Where Life Leads
by starbuckmeggie
Summary: <html><head></head>Welcome to the next step. Picks up after "The World Will Follow."</html>
1. Chapter 1

It's been a couple of weird, amazing days.

I almost married Chandler in Vegas. We were about thirty seconds from walking down the aisle.

If Ross and Rachel hadn't burst out of that chapel just before us, I'd be Mrs. Bing right now.

That's an…interesting thought.

Mrs. Bing.

Oddly, seeing our friends that hammered was the most sobering thing that could have possibly happened to us.

So, I'm not Mrs. Bing. For now. But for the first time in our relationship, I feel like marriage could be a real thing for us. One day he might be able to think about it without having a panic attack.

But what's made this whole debacle completely amazing—Chandler wants to live with me.

I haven't been able to wipe the smile off my face for hours. Even when he was locked out I couldn't help but smile. Even after Joey broke down my door, I smiled.

Huh…I guess it's _our_ door now.

I feel my smile grow even larger. Oh, my God, _our door_.

This is going to be _our_ apartment. I'm going to live here with my boyfriend.

I'm so excited about this that I don't know what do with myself. I have to admit, though, that no one was more surprised than me to realize that I wasn't ready to get married. I didn't really expect that. Everyone always teases me about being obsessed with marriage and babies, and I suppose that even I assumed I would run down the aisle.

I guess I'm more pragmatic than anyone ever thought. Chandler and I have only been dating for a year; I know that's long enough for some people, but apparently not for me. I want to spend more time with him, especially because we spent so many months in hiding. We haven't had a whole lot of time just to be boyfriend/girlfriend. I'd like some more of that for a while.

Though living with him at the same time sounds like heaven.

I can't believe he even suggested it. Chandler of all people. It's such a big deal.

But, I guess…I mean, he's the one who suggested we get married, so maybe it shouldn't be that surprising that he'd suggest it.

I mean, _living_ together. We're going to wake up together and go to sleep together, we're going to eat breakfast and drink coffee together, sit on the couch together, read together…

Now that I think about it, the only real difference will be all of his stuff mixed with mine. Everything else, we already do.

The mingling of our stuff, though…I like that. I really like that. All of his clothes with mine, side by side in my closet, seeing him officially change his address to apartment twenty…it's huge.

It's so huge.

I've never been anywhere close to living with someone. I've definitely never been in a relationship long enough to think that moving in with my significant other would be a good idea. But with Chandler it just feels right.

Everything with Chandler has felt right. This entire year from the first moment I kissed him has been wonderful and feels like it was all supposed to happen. Joey being off with the other bridesmaid that night is the best thing that could have happened because it all led me to this. Sex with Joey probably would have been all right, and I might've felt okay after it but what I would have missed. I wound up feeling so much better than okay. I went to his hotel room that night feeling so sad, so lost and…he changed all that. Just with a few words, too.

How could I have spent so much time with him and never realize that he's everything I've always been looking for?

Maybe I was too busy looking for the guys I'm supposed to want instead of going for the guy that just makes me happy. And he does. Even before we started, he could always make me smile. He was there with me through some of my darkest post-Richard days just telling me random stories, making things up, whatever it took to get me to smile. He let me cry on his shoulder, though he never wanted to admit it to our friends. He's always gone above and beyond for me, though the more time I spend with him, the more I know this is true about him in general. He's a wonderful person who loves his friends dearly and will do anything in his power to make them happy, usually at his own expense. He _hates_ being the butt of so many jokes but deals with it if for someone else's benefit.

Just one more thing I love about this man.

Now, I'm the main focus of his energies. He wants my happiness more than anything. He's told me more than once that it's more important than anything else to him.

I think it's lucky that _he's_ what makes me happy. Works out for both of us, especially because I want him to be happy, too. My heart still flutters when I look at him, and I smile so much just thinking about him.

Why did it take me so long? I could have been this happy years ago.

"You know you haven't stopped smiling in hours?"

I blink a few times, pulling myself out of my thoughts, surprised that he's still awake. I turn my face to his, my smile widening as I see him grinning back at me. I rub his arm gently and his fingers tighten on my hip, pulling me a little closer.

"This is our bed now," I whisper, and his eyes crinkle at the edges with happiness.

"Yeah, it is."

I lean in and kiss him gently. "Thank you for fixing the door."

He snorts, rolling his eyes. "All I did was hold it up—you and Joey did the rest."

"It was still helpful. And you went down to the store with Joey to get all that stuff to fix the door…"

"Well, this is going to be my new home—I want it to look nice."

"Our home," I say softly, and a happy shiver runs through my body.

"Our home," he repeats, his hand coming up to stroke my cheek.

"Are you completely sure you want to do this?"

He looks at me, confused. "Of course I am. Why would you ask that?"

"We were sure about getting married, too, and look what happened with that."

He rolls onto his back and I prop myself up on my elbow, watching him. "This is different. I've been thinking about this for a while. We already spend all of our time together, and I can't remember the last time we spent the night apart. I can't even remember wanting to be away from you. I like that my clothes are mixed in with yours and that I have a toothbrush in your bathroom. I like that you actually want me around all the time. It just feels right, you know? Like it's the next step in our relationship." He pauses and sighs, and I place a gentle kiss on his chest, waiting.

"Getting married…that was an insecure reaction on my part. I was still kind of messed up from you having lunch with Richard, and then you told me that I'm the love of your life, and all I could think about was making sure that I didn't lose you."

"You'll never lose me, Chandler. Never."

"I'm a pretty big idiot, Mon. I do a lot of stupid things, stupid enough that they could drive you away some day."

"Chandler, you won't. After all this time…don't you realize this is for keeps? We're in this together. And you don't have the market cornered on idiotic moves. _I'm_ the one that had lunch with my ex-boyfriend and decided not to tell you about it."

"Yeah, but you didn't want to ruin our anniversary—I get that."

I shake my head. "It's no excuse. I should have told you. But honey, I need you to know that I feel absolutely nothing for him. It's all gone. You're all I need. What I feel for you is so much more than I ever felt for him."

He looks at me, his expression very dubious. "Monica, come on."

"I mean it. I know he and I were…intense, but seriously, the way I feel about you…there are no words. There are actually no words, and even if there were, they wouldn't be good enough. You fill up all the spaces inside of me. You make me whole. I love you more than I ever thought possible and every day, it grows."

Chandler swallows heavily, staring at me. Not too long ago, I would have worried that I'd said too much, but now I just can't keep holding it all in. I actually need to tell him all the time how much I love him.

It really should be scary to feel this much for someone. It should scare the hell out of him, too. Somehow, though, it doesn't. At least it doesn't seem to. He doesn't run away from me. His first response to all this was to find a way to keep me closer. I think that says a lot about how far he's come, and about just how right we are together.

"You make me so happy," he says softly, and it's all I need to hear. My eyes fill with tears and I bury my face in his neck, holding him close. He rubs my back gently and for a few minutes, we just exist.

This really is exactly where I want to be.

Our relationship is still growing and changing and it's so incredibly exciting. This part really is better than the beginning when we couldn't keep our hands off each other. All of this means so much more. I'm building a life with this man. He knows all of my stupid quirks and insecurities and makes me feel better about all of it; he balances me out. He really does complete me.

"Do you realize you've asked me to marry you twice?" I finally mumble, hoping to break the serious mood.

"Twice in the space of about four months," he confirms, and I lift my head to smile at him.

"You must be going for a record," I tease, kissing his cheek.

He just tightens his arms around me. "Next time I do it, I promise it'll be for real."

My heart stops. Did he really just say that? This isn't like "let's get married in Vegas." This is a promise of forever. He's going to ask me to marry him someday. Someday I'll be his _wife_. My heart starts thumping in my chest erratically as I bite my lower lip, unsure of what to do or say.

"I mean, I don't know when that'll be," he warns me. "But when I ask…I'll mean it."

"Just so you know," I whisper, feeling even happier right now than I did just a few minutes ago. "I'll say 'yes'."

He smiles at me softly, one of his hands threading through my hair, pulling my lips to his.

Oh, my God. It's like everything just got real. This is my future. I'm going to get to spend the rest of my life with him.

I climb on top of him, pressing myself closer to him; I _need_ to be closer to him. This is huge. It's so wonderful and scary and exciting and just huge.

His hands slide under my shirt slowly, and I can feel the question in his touch. I nod my head and pull off my tank top, tossing it over my shoulder carelessly. His arms wrap around me again, his fingers gently grazing my bare skin, and the heat of bodies pressed together feels more intense right now than it ever has before.

I whimper into his mouth and his hands slide down to my hips, pushing at my panties. I roll off him suddenly and pull them off myself, flinging them to the side. He looks at me in surprise and I just shake my head, smiling sheepishly. My sudden need for him right now is beyond intense.

He pushes his boxers down his legs, kicking them over the side of the bed. He grins back at me just as sheepishly and moves on top of me, his warm weight so comforting and exciting at the same time. Our hips move against each other teasingly and he nips at my lips. "No foreplay?"

"Verbal foreplay," I assure him, stroking the hair at the back of his neck. "You've got me all kinds of turned on right now."

"I love how sex is at least fifty percent mental for women," he says, his fingers gently stroking my sides. "Words are a turn on or turn off; so much more goes into it than just the physical. I mean, guys are easy. We get turned on and that's about it."

"Well, traditionally, women have a lot more to worry about during sex."

"Like what?" he asks, and I can tell that he's genuinely curious.

I just shrug. "We think about things like if, something goes wrong, will this guy make a good father? Is he someone we can handle being bound to for the rest of our lives? And that's just at the beginning. There can be a lot of mental drifting off where we think about what's on TV, or that we need to make a doctor's appointment or call our mothers. It's all over the place."

"That sounds…horrible."

"It can be, at times. There's not much worse than being bored during sex. We like our brains stimulated, otherwise we're mentally balancing our checkbooks."

He makes a face at me and I laugh. "Please tell me you've never done that with me."

"I promise. My mind may not always be focused on the activity, but it's usually hovering the general vicinity. I think about you and how much I love you and how good you make me feel. I don't have time for the mundane."

He shifts his hips against me and I groan, my eyes fluttering shut. "Sound like I have my work cut out for me." His lips are on mine before I can respond, and most thought goes out the window.

That's another reason I know this guy is the one for me—sex is stimulating on all levels. My mind doesn't have the capability of focusing on much else. Everything always feels so good. He really _is_ the best sex I've ever had and it's not just because of all the physical stuff, which he's very good at; he's in my head, too, and my mind just fills with him and briefly, he's all that matters in my little world.

I shift my legs a little farther apart, my feet bracing next to his knees; he rubs against me gently and my entire body shudders. I wrap my arms around him tightly, pressing my body up against his as best I can.

He pushes his hips against me and a moan escapes me as he teases me, my body responding to his instantly.

I slide my hand in between us and grasp him gently; his entire body goes rigid for a moment at the contact before he smiles against my lips. I move my fingers over him carefully; he's so warm and solid in my hand. I position him at my entrance and he slides into me slowly, taking his time, and I feel every inch of him.

My head falls back against the pillow as I sigh; I open my eyes a little to see him looking back at me already, his expression captivated. I moan and shift my body, trying to pull him closer even though it's not possible.

I need him. It's as simple as that. To exist, I need him with me. This connection that we have, that we've created, is everything. We're so right for each other, it's scary.

His hips draw back suddenly before he thrusts into me, and I almost weep from joy. It's only been a few days, but the last time we had sex was before we went to Vegas; so much as changed since then.

I think _we've_ changed since then.

His lips go to my clavicle, biting carefully at my delicate skin and I push against me, burying my face in the hair on top of his head, the smell of his shampoo intoxicating.

"I love you, Monica," he whispers and my insides quiver. I'll never get tired of hearing him say that.

"I love you, Chandler," I answer, wrapping one of my legs around the backs of his thighs, pulling him closer.

He pushes into me quickly, using short, firm strokes, and I feel like I'm going out of my mind. Then he suddenly slows, his pace gentle, less frantic.

That feels wonderful, too.

Oh, my god, it feels so good.

His lips travel across my chest, sucking gently at my skin and without warning, he thrusts against hard; my eyes fly open in pleasant shock. "Ohh."

"You like that?" he asks, and I feel my toes curl. He doesn't do much talking during sex—I usually have that covered for the both of us—but when he does, he somehow manages to find exactly what I need to hear.

"Yeeeeeees," I moan, my eyes closing as sensations overwhelm me.

He does it again, hard but slow at the same time and it feels incredible. I don't know how he does it all the time, but he's so good at it.

"Babyyyy. Oh, God."

I feel his lips on my chest again and I push myself against him, trying to encourage his mouth on my breasts. He nuzzles them for a few moments but somehow manages to avoid them otherwise.

"Chandler," I groan, grabbing at his head, trying to move him where I want him.

His arms wrap around my shoulders and I open my eyes; he's grinning at me almost wickedly and I realize the bastard's doing this on purpose.

"Oh, God," I moan again as he continues the fantastic pace he's set, his hips grinding into me every time.

"So beautiful," he whispers and I whimper; he _definitely_ stimulates me mentally.

"More," I demand, wrapping myself around him tighter and, to my delight, he immediately responds. His hips slam into me over and over and over, and I'm no longer just moaning; I'm yelling out for him, begging him, pleading, commanding, my fingernails digging into him and I try to make him move even faster, still desperate for more.

His lips are on mine once more, only partially muffling me, though I can't really be contained right now.

"Yes," I gasp, my mouth breaking from his. "Yes yes yes yes YES OH GOD CHANDLER."

And still, he moves against me, driving furiously; his back is slick with sweat. His forehead, too.

I love it.

I feel his lips skim across my cheek, down my jaw, and then I feel his teeth on my earlobe, biting gently. "I like when you scream," he says softly and my eyes fly open once more.

I think that can be arranged.

His lips wrap around my nipple suddenly and I almost fly off the bed, screaming involuntarily at his touch. He sucks at me greedily, his hand grasping the other one firmly, determinedly, his hips never slowing, never stopping.

"Don't stop," I beg. "Don't stop don't stop don't stop."

He releases me with a gentle pop, his hips suddenly still, and for just a moment I'm furious that he actually stopped. But he just smiles at me and brushes the hair back from my face. "Never," he promises.

He moves against me again, harder, faster, and somehow still so gentle.

I don't know how he does it.

He takes my other nipple in his mouth, my nails digging into his flesh, and I throw my head back against the pillow as I scream, the sensations almost more than I can take. He hisses at the contact but never stops his ministrations.

I push myself against him as fast as I can, my release so close all of a sudden. "Tell me you love me," I say suddenly; I desperately need to hear it again.

"I love you," he answers around me.

"Forever," I demand.

"Forever," he echoes, and I know that he's not just saying it to make me happy. My internal muscles start to quiver violently moments before the rest of me follows. I gasp a few times as I tense around him for a few seconds before I feel like I'm being ripped apart, orgasming wildly, my arms and legs wrapped around him tightly as I push against him as hard as I can, screaming, moaning, yelling, desperate for me.

He pounds into me, his fingers digging into me, his mouth coming off my breast as he groans. He moves even faster for just a few more moments before his movements become uncontrolled, sloppy in the best way possible.

I hold onto him for as long as I can, my limbs growing shaky from the effort of trying to keep him tight against me. He pants into my ear as his body slows, still thrusting against me occasionally until we both come to a stop.

I stroke his back for a few moments before my body collapses, arms and legs falling against the bed. With a groan, he pushes himself off me, and I grab onto him just enough to roll with him, keeping a leg draped over his as we lay side by side.

I brush the sweaty hair off his face and he smiles at me sleepily. I kiss his forehead and his eyes flutter shut, and I smile at how happy he looks.

I do that. I make him happy. That might be better than anything else.

Suddenly, I'm completely overwhelmed by my emotions and I feel like I want to laugh and cry at the same time.

This is my life. This is my future. I get to be with him forever. Moving in together is just the first step; I know the rest of it's coming. We'll get there.

I'm so happy with where we are now.

I sigh happily as I watch his face, his breathing already deepening, the content look on his face not going anywhere.

He's going to be the first thing I see every morning when I open my eyes.

That fills me with so much joy.

I get to hold him every night when I go to sleep.

For the rest of my life, I get to be with this man. I'm sure of it. I _know_ it. We're doing this, and we're doing this together.

I wrap my arms around him, pulling him closer, his head burrowing in the hollow of my neck.

I can't wait for the rest of my life.


	2. Chapter 2

I hear a car horn blare and blink my eyes open; I cringe a moment later when the bright summer sun attacks my corneas. I bury my face in Monica's neck, pulling her more tightly against my body, waiting for the flashing lights behind my eyelids to subside a bit. She tightens her grip on my arms and sighs; other than that, she's still.

I open my eyes again slowly; the room is very bright. I turn my head, looking at my shoulder at the clock. After nine—no wonder. We don't sleep in a lot, especially Monica; she's usually up earlier than everyone. But we were up late last night watching movies and talking, and we only had the energy for a little bit of fooling around before falling asleep.

I smile and turn back to my girlfriend, nuzzling her hair gently.

I love this woman so much it's ridiculous. Just the simple act of waking up next to her is better than anything I ever could have imagined.

Of course, waking up next to her has gotten better since everyone found out about us—it's nice that we don't have to sneak around and hide. I'll admit that while it took some time to get used to being able to be a couple in front of our friends, it was a hell of a lot of fun watching everyone react to me wandering out of Monica's room in the morning, or the looks they gave each other when we went to bed together, or even bumping into Rachel in the middle of the night as I wandered out to the kitchen for some water.

Now, though, it's even better because I don't have to leave; we're still working out all the technicalities and it might be a while longer before I can officially move in, but it's happening. Monica and I are going to live together.

Part of me still can't believe that I suggested it—not because I don't want to, but because it seems like such a huge move.

Well, it _is_ huge. And I was the one who suggested we get married in Vegas, so maybe it's not that unbelievable. But this feels right. Really right. Not like eloping because we'd just made up from a fight, but like this is something we're supposed to do. I'm really excited about it. I really like the thought of all our stuff being together, mixing in one spot. It's not like she's ever really kicked me out of the apartment, but it makes me happy to know that I'll always get to be here. When I come home from work, I'll be coming home to Monica. I won't just be coming over to hang out; I'll be coming here to _live_.

That's what I feel like I'm finally doing now—living.

It's not that my life was terrible before Monica, though it certainly lacked in a lot of areas. I just feel like I've come to life with her around. Everything is better. I take time to notice the moments in life instead of wishing them away so that I can crawl into bed and sleep. I can sit next to her on the couch and I notice stupid, unimportant things like if her hair is wavy all of a sudden, or that she's wearing a new shirt, or that she forgot to cover the dusting of freckles across her nose and cheeks that she thinks makes her look too young and that no one takes her seriously when they see them.

All of these are things that in no way important to the world spinning on its axis but now matter to me in ways I never could have predicted.

But they're part of Monica, and she's what matters to me. So I notice things.

And I love her freckles.

All of our friends now know that we're moving in together. We told them a few days ago, and everyone has been really supportive and happy for us. Even Rachel, though she had an odd reaction to all of it, aside from somehow getting the impression that the three of us were going to be living in one apartment.

Monica told me that Rachel didn't believe that it was actually going to happen because it's what we do, or something like that.

I don't get it.

But she used Monica and I almost getting married as her reasoning behind this, that we somehow jump into everything without really thinking if we want to do it.

I don't think that almost getting married in Vegas once is an actual way to gauge the seriousness of our commitment to each other. Yes; the Vegas thing was an impulse and not well thought out, but at least, even if we had tied the knot, we would have been married to someone we love. Rachel and Ross got married because they were drunk out of their minds. I would think, all things considered, mine and Monica's almost-nuptials were a lot more carefully thought out than theirs, and it's certainly not an accurate barometer of our relationship.

It doesn't matter, though, because she came around eventually, once Monica explained that this was really happening, that this wasn't some impulse.

Apparently, everyone's first reaction to "we have some news" was that Monica was pregnant. That was heart stopping. At least Monica looked pretty startled, too, when Joey suggested it, so there's that. I wasn't around when Phoebe and Rachel brought it up, but still…why is that the first impulse? We both know how to have safe sex. Everyone seemed excited about it, according to Monica but…no. Not ready, not even close. We haven't even talked about kids, but that doesn't mean it's not the sort of thing that couldn't be thrust upon us with no warning. We have sex all the time; she could very easily get pregnant, even with birth control.

That's an alarming thought.

Not so alarming that I could see us being able to abstain from sex, but still…wow.

We'll have to talk about it at some point, though. We're moving in together—this is just a stepping stone on our road to forever. Even _I_ know that. It's not as if we're getting married next week, but it's going to happen at some point. Just a few days ago, I told her that the next time I proposed, I was going to mean it.

Hell…she told me she was going to say "yes."

Right now, marriage doesn't seem that horrifying, though maybe because it's still a ways off. So are kids, in theory, but that doesn't mean the thought of being parent doesn't scare me senseless. I am nowhere _near_ ready for that.

I feel so conflicted about a lot of this stuff, which is weird. I mean, I can see it all somewhere down the line. I can see us in the future and I'm wonderfully happy with that future, but part it still scares the crap out of me. It's so much to think about, and forever is a long time.

Maybe I need to stop thinking so much about that kind of future and focus more on the immediate. I have the woman I love curled up against me and in a matter of weeks, she's going to be living with me. That's good—that's exciting and perfect. Marriage, babies…all of that stuff we can handle later. I want to get through this part; I want to _enjoy_ this part. I know that living with someone can change a relationship's dynamic, but I'm really hoping it'll change ours for the better. I just want to be able to do this for a little while before the next part happens.

We _will_ talk about it at some point—we'll have to. I'm just okay with this being enough for now. I think she is, too. Considering just a little over a week ago, she said she's not ready for marriage, either, I think we're on the same page.

I'll admit, though…it's a little surprising to hear from Monica of all people that she's not ready to get married.

Maybe that's not fair. She really doesn't have baby fever and marriage isn't all she talks about—it's just that those are things she wants, and instead of being in a relationship with someone who doesn't want the same things she does, she's willing to end it. That takes a lot of guts, actually. It's something I love about her, too, especially that she doesn't think she can change a person. She doesn't think she can wear someone down until they'll just cave in to what she wants—she wants someone who ultimately wants the same things. Maybe she could see that in me from the beginning, even if I couldn't. I know for a fact that I _have_ changed with her; certainly not because she's forced me into anything, but I feel like she's made me a better person without even really trying; she's made me _want_ to become a better person, someone worthy of a woman like Monica.

I've grown up a lot in the last year.

All it took was someone loving me unconditionally. Because I really do feel like it's unconditional. It would have to be; I've done enough stupid things over the past twelve months that would drive most women away. Not Monica. She knows I do stupid things and that I react badly to situations—whether it's by panicking or excessive gloating—but she loves me anyway. She never stops. She loved me enough to wait for me to be ready to say it, even if it meant that she had to hide her feelings for months.

There are no stipulations to this relationship; we both understand that it's going somewhere, and not because it's what she wants. It's what we both want. We'll get there. Eventually. But with no pressure from her, no "this must happen by" dates…she just loves me.

It's really nice to have that. It's nice to give that back to someone because that's how I feel about her. I love her, plain and simple. She knows me well enough to know when I need a push, and when to step back. I'm sure that when I'm ready for marriage, she'll know it first. Somehow. And she'll give me that gentle nudge if I need it. But it won't be something obvious like leaving a jewelry catalogue on the coffee table; it'll be something simple like mentioning going to a bridal shower, or helping someone shop for a wedding dress with no hints after. Just those undemanding thoughts and that's it. Things I won't catch onto until months after when I'm either in the middle of buying an engagement ring, or she's already wearing it.

She's clever, but not in a manipulative way. She just lets me know that she's open and ready for something and waits.

Like moving in together; sure, I'm the one who asked, but she's been letting me know for months in small ways that she's ready when I am. I think I initiated it, though, when I started keeping her underwear at my place. But then she started keeping my clothes over here, bit by bit. Well, I helped; I brought stuff over, too, especially after we were outed. Even small things, like asking me to stay a little longer in the mornings, not wanting me to leave…those were little, subtle signs that she wanted something bigger, something more. And every step of the way, I wanted it, too. I wanted it all of it.

Being with Monica is just different. She makes me want the forever things. She makes me not afraid to want the forever things. As poorly thought out as it was for me to propose to her that first time, I knew then that I wanted that more than I wanted to lose her. I knew that I couldn't lose her. My life would be stupid without her. So at that point, if I had to choose between marriage and losing her—and crazy as it was, I thought those were my only two options—I chose marriage.

And she still wanted to be with me after that. That was my cue to never let this woman go.

"You're thinking awfully hard for this time of day," she says suddenly, her voice still soft with sleep, and I tighten my grip around her, grinning.

"Sorry."

"Anything important?"

"Just thinking about you."

She scoffs and I can practically hear her rolling her eyes. "Right."

"No really. I was thinking about you, about us…that kind of thing."

She wiggles her hips against my groin and I try my hardest not to groan. "I guess you really _are_ thinking about me."

I kiss her shoulder and sigh playfully. "You'd think you'd be used to me waking up like this by now."

She shifts against me again and I tighten my grip around her involuntarily. "What does that have to do with anything?"

"Monicaaaaa," I moan, and she looks at me over her shoulder, grinning.

"Good morning." I lean over her a bit and kiss her gently.

"Good morning."

She turns in my arms and I shudder as her body comes into contact with mine. "Sorry I crapped out on you last night."

I kiss her forehead and push her hair away from her face. "We were up late, and the last couple of weeks have been…weird."

"Well, I feel pretty well-rested right now," she tells me, her eyebrows waggling, her leg draping over my hip.

Ah, morning sex. I love morning sex.

Scratch that—I love sex. But morning sex is a hell of a lot of fun.

I slide my hands to her hips and help shift her on top of me. She drapes her body across mine, our limbs tangling, her hands running through my hair.

"I'm feeling pretty alert myself," I tell her and she just smirks at me. I roll my eyes and nod. "Yeah, yeah. You can tell."

She leans down and kisses me, surprisingly gentle considering the tension I can feel in her body. I run my hands slowly from her hips to her thighs, my grip tightening on her as she moves against me slowly. "Love you," she whispers.

I smile against her lips—I don't know how many hundreds of times we've said that in the last few months but it never fails to make me happy.

So ridiculously happy.

I slowly move a hand back up her leg, sliding it in between us; she gasps against my mouth as my fingers find her, pushing against me a little harder. I rub her gently for a few moments, her head falling back as my fingers slip inside her.

"Ohhhhh," she says softly, a smile spreading across her face.

"Best part of waking up," I say quietly, watching her face in fascination.

She presses her lips against mine again, harder this time, kissing me roughly, her hips moving against my hand urgently.

I guess falling asleep in the middle of things last night only made our desire for each other stronger.

I move my hand away from her and she sits up, staring down at me, her chest heaving.

She's beautiful.

She braces her hands on my chest as I grab her hips; she lifts up on her knees and sinks onto me slowly. I shut my eyes for a few moments, letting myself get lost in the sensation of Monica surrounding me.

It only helps marginally—it's still intense.

It's so unbelievably intense.

No one else will ever make me feel this way.

I realize she's completely still; I open my eyes and see her own eyes are tightly shut, her body trembling. Her fingers dig into my chest as she takes a few quick breaths. I stroke her sides gently and she moans, a little louder now.

"Oh, God, Chandler," she groans, rocking against me slowly and I let out a shuddery breath.

One of the things I like best about sex in the morning is that it sort of wakes up all the senses. Everything goes from hazy to crystal clear in about three seconds. I go from relaxed to alert; spooned comfortably beside her to on top of her, or sometimes beneath her; then all of a sudden, I'm inside of her, she surrounds me, and everything becomes about those feelings, my suddenly sharp focus only trained on her and her needs. Granted, when it's all over, I'd much rather just lounge around in bed with her all day, but even when I have to get up and get ready for work, I feel alive. I feel happy and energetic and, somehow, at peace.

I grab one of her hands and bring it to my lips, kissing her palm. "I love you, Monica," I pant, and she smiles at me brightly. She leans forward, capturing my lips with hers, our hips still moving against each other's insistently.

This really is perfect.

I brace my feet against the mattress, pushing myself against her harder, my hands going to her hips, digging my fingers into her flesh, and she breaks away from me, her face contorting. "Ohhhhhhhhhh, God." She digs her fingers into my shoulders; I can see her arms shaking.

I could listen to her make noises like that all day.

Her back arches and her breasts are suddenly in my face—like I could resist that. I drag my hands slowly up her sides, caressing her as gently as I can, until I can grab her breasts, massaging them slowly, watching her mouth drop open in pleasure, her hips slamming against mine.

I lift my head up, taking a nipple in my mouth, groaning happily. I love her breasts; I don't care how clichéd it is, I love them. She likes me to touch them. She encourages it. They're part of her and they're beautiful and I like that I'm allowed to give them the attention I feel they deserve.

She never complains.

I love that she'll wear something that's low-cut or formfitting just for me now. She knows it drives me crazy, but she also knows she'll get to reap the benefits at some point.

I love that she does little things like that for me.

"Chandler," she whimpers, and I squeeze her breast a few more times before I change sides, gasping for air, happy to be oxygen deprived. "Oh, yes. Oh, God, YES."

It's still a shock to me that I can cause this sort of reaction in her, that she responds to me like this. It's a heady sensation.

I use my free hand to play with her free breast, my mouth happily attacking the other one; she clenches her inner muscles around me, moving faster against me, moaning continuously.

"Oh, my God."

I blink a few times; that didn't sound like Monica. She looks down at me, confused, her movements faltering.

"I'm so sorry—I—I didn't..."

Monica and I both look over at the door, yelping in shock to see Rachel standing there, staring at us.

"What the hell?" Monica exclaims, grabbing her sheet, wrapping it around herself; she drops down beside me, blocking me from Rachel's view even though her thighs still straddle me. I would laugh at the gesture if the whole thing wasn't so embarrassing. "What're you doing in here?!"

I can still see Rachel's face around Monica's arm; she's blinking rapidly, somehow surprised that she caught us having sex.

"I…I knocked. I…I…I didn't hear anything. It's late—wanted to make sure you were okay."

"Oh, my God, are you kidding me?! I can't sleep in? You guys can't make breakfast for yourselves once in a while?"

Monica's chest is heaving against me now in a way that has absolutely nothing to do with arousal; her face is red, her nostrils flaring…she's pissed. I can understand that. I will be, too, as soon as the shock of it all wears off.

Rachel just sputters, her mouth opening and closing as she looks back and forth between us. "GET OUT!" Monica yells, and Rachel jumps, finally out of her trance.

"Oh! Oh, my God. I'm sorry! I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry." She turns back and forth a couple of times before she manages to turn around completely, pulling the bedroom door shut behind her. I can hear her calling, "I'm so sorry," as she scurries across the apartment, the front door shutting behind her.

Monica looks at me, her eyes wide with shock, her body shaking with irritation. A year together and no one's ever walked in us having sex; we've had a couple of close calls, but nothing like that.

It's a little humiliating.

She rests her forehead against my shoulder for a few moments and I stroke her back gently, hoping to calm her down. Carefully, she slides off of me, lying next to me. Suddenly, I'm very deflated.

Talk about a mood killer.

She growls a little as she hits the mattress, sitting up. "She cannot move out soon enough." She slides out of bed, grabbing my t-shirt and pulling it over her head. I sit up as she stalks around the bed, grabbing her hand before she can get very far. I sit up and pull her toward me, taking her face in mine. I kiss her gently, and I can feel her start to deflate, the tension easing out of her body as her hands slide around my neck. She relaxes against me, sitting carefully on my thigh.

"It's okay," I whisper, pulling her close, and she rests her head against my shoulder again.

"I know," she answers. "I know. It's just a little embarrassing having someone see us in the middle of that."

I nod in agreement, kissing her cheek. "Soon, it won't even matter. This'll be our place and we won't have to worry about anyone walking in on us again." We both know it's a lie—none of us have a very good sense of personal space—but at least we'll have a better shot of alone time.

She wraps her arms around me, kissing my neck. "I promise; we'll finish this later. Right now…"

"Oh, I know," I assure her. There's no way I could perform right now, not with the image of Rachel staring at us in shock so fresh in my mind. She gives me another kiss and stands up, sighing.

"Still…she can't move out soon enough."

I squeeze her hand in agreement, watching as she leaves the bedroom. I run my hands through my hair for a few moments, taking a few deep breaths before I start to dig out my pajamas.

Monica's right—this move can't happen soon enough.


	3. Chapter 3

It's possible that I have a few unresolved issues about moving in with Chandler. Or at least some worries.

If a fight about what to do with a spare room is enough to almost tear us apart, it's possible that we may need to talk about this a little more, at least to figure out exactly how all of this is going to work.

It's not that I have doubts about living with Chandler—I know it's what I want to do—but it's still scary.

But he looks so crushed now that I've shut down his "merge" idea; I laugh a little and reach out for his hand. "Honey…"

He looks down, shuffling his foot. "I just thought it was a fun idea…"

I bite my lip and step toward him, reaching out to stroke his cheek, giving his fingers a squeeze. "Honey," I say again. "It's _is_ a fun idea, and I love the sentiment, but…"

"I know. It's not _you_."

My head drops for a moment, my hand sliding to his shoulder; I deserve that. As much as I want to live with Chandler, I've been fighting all of his efforts to make this place ours instead of it being my place that he lives in.

Maybe a game room isn't the way to go, but that doesn't mean a guest room is right, either. I just get so used to having everything just so and the way I like it, and I guess I assume that the people around me like it the same way. But what else am I to assume when all of my friends spend all of their spare time in the little home I've created?

"Chandler…I'm sorry. This is…hard. I've never done this before, either, you know? This is probably going to take some adjusting. We're going to have to figure all of this out together. I'll probably get a little crazy before it's all over. You're just going to have to be patient with me."

He pulls me to him suddenly, his arms enveloping me. He doesn't say anything; he just holds me.

I give him a squeeze then unravel myself, pulling him over to the couch. "I don't…I don't like the idea of a game room. I'm sorry."

"Okay, well, I'm not big on a 'beautiful guest room'." He manages to keep most of the sarcasm out of his voice, so I'm proud of him.

"We're going to have a lot of extra stuff," I remind him. "We're combining two lives; we're going to have two beds, a bunch of bureaus and dressers…"

He shakes his head. "I'm getting rid of my bed. I've had it for a million years. I don't feel the need to drag it over here."

I smile at him slowly. "So…my bed is going to be our bed."

"That was my thought. We already have two—we don't need to get rid of both of them and get a new one, right?"

This is good—we're talking about this without becoming childish. One step at a time.

"Right. Okay. So…furniture?"

He grabs my hand, playing with my fingers. "This may come as a shock to you, but I don't have any real attachment to that stuff. It's just junk I picked up after college."

"You're very sentimental, you know that, right?"

He scrunches his face at me, but leans over to kiss me. "Part of my charm."

"So, out of curiosity, what would have us do with a spare bedroom if we don't use it as a bedroom?"

He bites his lip, looking puzzled, and I can't help but feel a little triumphant. "Well, does it have to be a bedroom?"

"No, but what else would it be? Assuming it's not a game room. It's just another room, right?"

"You know, sometimes I really don't like logic."

I laugh a little at him and scoot closer to his side. "I'm just looking for ideas, honey."

"I guess I can see the merit in having another bedroom. I'm sure I'll spend plenty of time in it."

I'm confused. I tilt my head at him, sure my puzzlement is all over my face. "What?"

"Well, when I do stupid stuff. I'm sure you'll have tons of reasons to make me sleep on the couch; might as well be able to sleep in a bed."

"Chandler…I'm not going to kick you out of our room."

He gives me a doubtful look. "I do a lot of stupid stuff. Living with me full time is just going to make it worse."

I take his face in my hands, making him look at me. "Sweetie, please don't beat yourself up. You know I love you, right?"

"Okay, but what does that have to do with stupidity?"

I sigh and shake my head; when he decides he wants to be down on himself, it can be hard to sway him. "I don't think you do a lot of stupid things; no more than I do, at any rate. I mean, I was going to let one little argument over what to do with our extra room stop us from moving in together. That's not exactly smart. Ross was right—I've never been anywhere near as happy as I am now until we got together. _You_ do that. I think we're both still working out what all of this means. It's a big step, Chandler. It's a big step for anyone. We're both going to have to make a lot of adjustments, you know? A lot of compromises, a lot of giving and taking…"

He takes my hands in his, kissing the palms before folding them into his lap. "And that's all great. I just want to feel like this is my place, too, and not like I'm just going to be living at your place. I mean, I know I don't have the most elegant of tastes, but I want to be able to come home from work and know this Chandler and Monica's home. I don't really care about things like my old furniture because, yeah—it's crap. That stuff doesn't matter to me. But it does matter that this feels like somewhere I get to live."

I make a face and lean my head against the couch cushion. "I'm resisting change, aren't I?"

"Little bit."

I let myself fall forward, landing on his chest, wrapping my arms around his middle. "I'm sorry. You know how I can be, though. 'A place for everything and everything in its place'."

"And I'm okay with that. I just want my stuff to be part of the 'everything,' you know?"

"This moving in together thing is going to take longer than we thought, isn't it?"

"Probably," he answers with a sigh. "I've got years worth of crap to sort through. I'm certainly not moving all of it over here, but I do need to figure out what's good and what's trash."

"I can help you with that," I tell him in a small voice, mostly muffled by his shirt, and I can feel him laugh.

"No doubt. But how about you let me take a pass at it first? After that, you can help me weed out the junk that I really don't need."

"Deal," I answer, giving him a squeeze.

"And, hey, what about all the furniture in Rachel's room? Wasn't all of that already here when she moved in?"

I finally lift my head up again, keeping my arms around him. "Most of it, yeah, but I was going to let her take it. I'm asking her to leave the place she's called 'home' for the last five years; I don't want her to have to buy furniture, too."

His lips are on mine almost before I can finish that sentence, surprising me. "What was that for?"

"That's one of the reasons I love you so much."

"Because I'm letting Rachel have the furniture?"

"Well, yeah. It's just so sweet. I mean, she wound up moving in here basically by accident, had nothing to bring to the table, and you took care of her. Now, you're just letting her have all this stuff because…I don't know, because you're the best person in the world."

I duck my head as I feel myself blush. "It's not that big of a deal."

He takes my chin in his hand, tilting my face up to his. "It was to Rachel. I bet it still _is_ to Rachel. You're a good woman, Monica; she's lucky she had you to take care of her."

"Yeah, well…" I clear my throat uncomfortably, standing up. "Now I get to take care of you for a while."

He grins up at me, his eyes happy. "Lucky me."

I clear my throat again. "Okay, so…_our_ place, not _my_ place. Got it. We'll work on it. Can I show you what else I did?"

I can tell by the look on his face that he knows he's made me uncomfortable; for some reason, it's perfectly fine for me to sing his praises, but I'm not at all okay with him doing the same for me.

What a pair we make.

I hold out my hand for him and pull him with me into the bedroom. "Take a look," I tell him, pointing at my bureau.

"Are you showing me your underwear? Because as nice as that is, honey…"

I nudge him with my shoulder and he makes a face, rubbing his arm. "Just look."

He shrugs and opens the top drawer, looking over his shoulder at me after a moment. "I don't get it."

"Keep going."

He pulls open each drawer one by one, still looking puzzled. "They're half empty."

"Because I made room for your stuff."

He turns and looks at me, startled. "Really?"

"Yeah. I figured your clothes would be the first thing over here; you'll probably get that stuff here before anything else since you're here every night anyway, so I figured…"

He looks truly touched, reaching out to pull me against him. "You made room for my clothes?"

"Don't sound so surprised," I tell him, wrapping my arms around his waist. "Your clothes had to go somewhere. This gave me a good excuse to get rid of some of the stuff I never wear, too. We'll probably need another dresser at some point, but I thought this would be a good start. And…" I untangle myself from him, pulling him over to the closet. "You have half now." I pull open the closet door to show him my stuff pressed to the left so all of his suits and whatnot can have somewhere to live.

"I…I don't know what to say."

"This is your home now, Chandler. What's mine is yours."

"Home." He smiles wistfully. "_Our_ home."

Ours. Wow. That keeps hitting me over and over. I don't know how long it'll take before all of this is real, though I'm guessing it'll be somewhere after our first fight and neither one of us has anywhere to go.

That'll be interesting.

I think that'll be a true test of whether or not Chandler and I are really going to work out.

We will. We spent eight months hiding our feelings from the world around, lying to our friends, sneaking around; I don't think, when it comes down to it, one of our stupid misunderstandings will really be able to pull us apart.

Even that fight from earlier wouldn't have lasted too long. We might have tried going to sleep apart, but one of us would have crawled into bed with the other at some point.

I can't stay away from him. I don't want to stay away from him. He truly is the love of my life. I have a hard time sleeping without him now. I've gotten so used to his warm body wrapped around mine that I feel weird when he's not there.

Maybe that's the truest sign that this is the right move for us to make. Dumb arguments notwithstanding, I honestly can't picture my life without him anymore. I don't want to; it's depressing. With him is where I belong, and if he needs a game room to feel like he's at home…then I'll learn to live with a game room. If having his barca lounger over here makes him happy, then I'll get used to it.

Because he's right—this needs to feel like his place, too, and if I'm not willing to compromise on that part, what kind of life are we starting together? I don't think he minds terribly when I boss him around…not that he always listens.

I never really thought about that before now. I'll tell him to do something and he nods and says he will, and only about half the time does he actually follow through.

Huh.

He's clever. He lets me think I'm getting my way when, really…not so much.

Oh, living with him is going to be interesting.

"Hey, can I bring some of my clothes over now?"

I feel a grin spread across my face. "Definitely."

He takes my hand pulls me across the hall to what will soon be just Joey's apartment, and I cringe a little—the place is kind of a wreck. It doesn't look at all like he's been going through his stuff. Or, I guess maybe that's why it looks like it's been hit by a tornado.

Of course, I realize that "tornado" to me isn't the same as to most of the rest of the world, but it still makes my skin crawl a little.

I do my best to ignore as we make our way to his room, which doesn't look like it's in much better shape; moving boxes tossed haphazardly in corners, drawers pulled halfway out, piles of junk here and there that may or may not be stuff he wants to bring with him.

He laughs suddenly. "Don't look so worried, honey. You know it doesn't always look like this. It's just part of the process."

I shift nervously from foot to foot—messes really do make me feel anxious. "Can we make this quick?"

He opens his closet door and starts pulling out his dress shirts, draping them over my arms. As he's grabbing out his suits, he asks, "What are the odds of you not sneaking over here in the middle of the night to clean this up?"

I take a deep breath and focus on Chandler's face. "I'm going to try so hard, honey. I'm just going to have to remind myself that it's for the greater good."

"Because you know that I don't normally live like this."

"No, I know. And you've been even better about it since we started going out. Just…" I glance around the room, shuddering. "You'll have to keep me distracted."

"I'll try," he tells me, leaning in to kiss my lips gently. He reaches into the top drawer of his bureau and scoops out an armload of underwear, dumping it into the nearest bag he can find. "Hey, look at that. You'll finally get your underwear back."

I roll my eyes as he slings the bag over his shoulder, and I lead the way out of the room. "You're such a romantic."

We make our way back my apartment—_our_ apartment—and unceremoniously dump his clothes on my—our—bed.

It's going to be hard getting used to calling all of this stuff "ours" instead of just "mine."

As we start hanging his clothes up, though, I feel a rush charging through my body. This is happening. It's really happening. We're getting past the point of just talking about it and we're starting to mix our stuff together. Granted, it's just clothes right now, but it still makes this real. We're living together.

_Living together_.

It's so huge.

I know he hasn't technically moved in yet, but…it almost feels like we've been doing this for months. We're together all the time; we sleep together, we eat together, hell sometimes we shower together. The biggest thing we have to worry about comingling right now is bills.

Ugh. That never once crossed my mind until now.

Might as well cross that bridge now. "Hey, honey?"

"Yeah?"

I keep my eyes trained on the closet as he hands me his suits; I take care to put them in order by color, something I'm sure he's never done before. "What about bills?"

"What about them?"

"Well, everything's in my name right now; has been for years—"

"That's fine," he answers, passing me a few of his button-down shirts.

"It is?"

"Yeah. I mean, we can get my name put on that stuff if you want, but I don't feel like going through the hassle of doing an actual transfer is going to improve the quality of our life. So, keep them in your name and you tell me how much to hand over every month. Or, like I said, we add my name to the accounts so we're both responsible for it."

He continues to impress me; I wasn't expecting that to be so simple. "Really?"

"Really. I promise you that all I really want out of this deal is to live with you and have this place feel like our home. The rest is just incidental."

How can I deny this man anything?

He hands me the last shirt, and I grab his hand as I hang it up. "You know I love you, right? I mean, more than anything."

"I know that," he answers, smiling at me.

"And this just going to take some time for me to get used to."

"I know that, too."

"But you have to remember, no matter how crazy I get, this is what I really want." I point at the closet behind me, our clothes looking so nice hanging together. "I _do_ want to be with you all the time, and wake up next to you every morning, and all that other stuff that we'll come across in the next few months, no matter how weird or hard it is. I think…I think we're going to be the ones to make it all work."

His arms wrap around me; I put my ear against his heart, reassured by the steady _thumpthumpthump_. "We'll make it work, Mon. As long as we don't forget to talk to each other, I think we'll be good. And patience. Please, dear God, be patient with me. I'm pretty sure that living with a girl is going to be worlds away from living with someone like Joey. It might take me some time to break me out of my gross 'guy' habits."

"You're not that bad," I reassure him.

"Eh. We'll see. I'm sure there's a lot of stuff that I don't realize that I do."

"Well, either way, I'm sure _I'll_ take some getting used to."

"Honey…" his voice drifts off for a moment as his arms tighten around me. "I can't _wait_ to get used to you."

I smile and stroke his back gently; we can do this.

Hell, we _are_ doing this.

We're starting our life together.

One big, scary step at a time.


	4. Chapter 4

Time away is just what the doctor ordered. The last month or so has been so crazy, filled with plans and almost weddings, moving boxes, going through old stuff, getting rid of things, figuring out how to condense things…

It's almost too much.

So we decided to drive upstate for the weekend. We didn't tell anyone that we were going until we were walking out the door; after the debacle of our anniversary trip becoming a group thing, we decided not to chance it and kept it as quiet as possible. We did a little bit of research, booked a room, rented a car, then told everyone we'd see them on Sunday.

We could still hear their questions as we were walking downstairs.

Apparently, it's some sort of crime for two people to want to get away together for a few days.

God forbid we ever go on a honeymoon; how will our friends be able to handle a week or two without being constantly underfoot?

Monica was very magnanimous and let me do the driving, which usually works better because then she gets to navigate. We've tried it the other way—it usually doesn't end well for me.

At any rate, upstate New York in the middle of summer is a great place to hide away from the world. This room we're holed up in is even better for that. I know Monica has all sorts of things she wants us to do tomorrow—I'm not really sure about all of the details. Wine tastings, maybe? I don't know—coupley things. Things that I like to do because I get to do them with her. Things that make her smile.

Though, with the way things are going right now, I may be able to convince her that we should stay in bed all weekend.

It's a very nice place, I must say. Small, so there aren't a lot of people—spring and fall are their busy seasons anyway, according to the front desk, so it's kind of slow now; there's fancy food, mood lighting, great views, mountains, Niagara Falls a couple of hours away if we're so inclined, and mildly touristy places to waste time and money in.

But, not surprisingly, my favorite part so far is our room. There's a big, squishy bed that I can't wait for the two of us to get lost in, a fireplace that's big enough for the two of us to stand in and makes me feel extraordinarily disappointed that it's late July and lighting a fire now would probably cause heatstroke, and a bathtub that could probably fit four people comfortably, but holds the two of us quite nicely.

And Monica…yet another reason why I love this woman. She found a place that has the tub in its own separate area, so I don't have to deal with my odd squeamishness over the toilet-to-tub proximity. Which means that right now, she's draped across me provocatively, thighs straddling me, arms wrapped around my middle, cheek pressed against my chest. I can actually feel her smiling.

This was our first order of business when we got here. Well, after unpacking. This is Monica we're talking about after all. But right after that, she started filling the tub, throwing in whatever sort of magic it is she uses to make it all smell and feel so good, lit a bunch of candles, and it's where we've been camped out ever since. Aside from occasionally draining the cooling water and refilling it with hot, we've been basically still and quiet for some time now.

She hums contentedly and burrows herself against me a little more; I sigh happily and shift my hips just a bit, the half-erection I've been sporting since we got here rubbing against her gently, sending little shockwaves through both of us.

This is _definitely_ what the doctor ordered.

It seems almost counterintuitive that two people who are about to move in together need time away so they can be alone, but it's the sad truth of it. I love our friends dearly, but we're all ridiculously codependent. I like to think that's becoming a little less true in regards to Monica and myself, at least as far as the rest of our group is concerned, but on the whole, it seems we have a tough time being apart from each other. Taking time to just be a couple is something we have to do sometimes.

God, she feels incredible. Under normal circumstances, I couldn't care less if I take a bath—it just doesn't do it for me. But the moment Monica says she wants to sit in a tub with me, my clothes seem to magically disappear and I'm suddenly pressed up against her, naked. There's very little I wouldn't do for this woman, and sitting in a bathtub is an extraordinarily small price to play. I press a kiss to the top of her head and she makes another happy humming noise.

"We should come back here in the fall and pick apples," she mumbles against my chest, her voice dreamy.

"Always my idea of a good time," I answer, though we both know if it's something she sets her heart on, I'll come back here and do it.

"We could make apple butter."

"Naturally."

"Collect leaves."

"Why not?"

She pokes my side. "Are you even paying attention to me?"

"Of course I am; apples, leaves, autumn goodness. I hear you."

Her lips caress my chest for a few moments as her arms slide around my neck. "It could be fun, you know. We could use that fireplace."

"Mmmm," I agree, one of my hands coming up to rub her scalp; I can feel shivers of delight run through her body. "Fireplace."

She lifts her head to look at me; her eyes are dark, a small smile gracing her lips. "I love you."

"I love you, too," I answer, pressing my fingers into the small of her back.

"Thank you for doing this sort of stuff with me. I know it's probably not your favorite thing."

I stroke her cheek gently; her head tilts into my hand. "I just like being with you. Doesn't matter to me where it is." I pull her toward me, our lips meeting slowly, gently, in no hurry. Her fingers slide through my hair and I pull her closer, keeping her hips pressed against mine, my body coming to life a bit more.

"Water's getting cool again," she mumbles, and I blindly reach over to the faucet—installed on the side of the tub by someone who realized couples would be sitting in it lengthwise—and turn on the hot water. She reaches back and pulls out the stopper, the colder water draining as the hot takes its place, swirling around us, almost scalding.

Satisfied with the temperature once more, we turn off the water and replug the drain, relaxing together once more, somehow having managed all of this with our lips mostly pressed against each other.

She sighs and settles her head in the crook of my neck, her arms wrapping around me again. I shift my hips against her, shivering at the sensation—we've never had sex in water. I think it could be a hell of a lot of fun.

"Can I ask you something?" she says softly, her fingers tracing circles on my back.

"Of course."

"You lost your virginity at twenty-three?"

I freeze for a moment before I remember confessing that in the coffeehouse the other day—I don't know what possessed me to ever say that out loud. Me and my stupid need to make some sort of quip or joke at every opportunity.

"Ummm…"

"I'm just asking, honey. We've never talked about it before, and then you mentioned it, and I was just wondering…"

If the heat from the water isn't making my face red, then this conversation will certainly do the trick. "Yeah. I was kind of a late bloomer. And I know this is going to be a terrible shock, but I used to be even more awkward around girls."

She chuckles a little, but keeps her face buried in my neck. "We don't have to talk about this if you don't want."

"Eh. What's one more humiliating story by this point?"

She lifts her head, looking at me curiously. "Why is humiliating? Was it bad?"

"Well, it wasn't great, but, you know…that whole losing my virginity at twenty-three thing. Doesn't make me look great, you know?" I shift my eyes away from her, focusing on the foggy window, the sky dark behind it.

"How on earth does it make you look bad?"

"I couldn't get a girl to get naked in front of me until then. Hell, I didn't even get to _touch_ a girl until I was nineteen."

"That doesn't exactly mean you're defective, you know?"

I just shrug, still not making eye contact; this is one of those odd situations where I shouldn't be embarrassed about how old I was the first time I had sex, and if it'd been my choice to wait that long, I'd be fine with it. But when it's because you simply can't get anyone interested…it feels a little different.

"Seriously, Chandler—it's nothing to be ashamed about." I feel her hand on my cheek as she turns my face to hers, forcing me to look at her. "Too many people have sex way too young, anyway. Despite wanting it desperately at that age, we're nowhere near ready for the consequences."

I just roll my eyes—I've heard that speech before, though not necessarily directed at me. "You don't think it's pathetic?"

"Honey, you had a messed up childhood _and_ you went to an all-boys school. How much did you interact with girls until you got to college?"

"Huh. I never thought about that."

"Well, if you spend all of your formative years around a bunch of guys, unless you're gay, it's not going to help a whole lot when you're surrounded by girls all of a sudden."

"I guess that's true."

"Don't be so hard on yourself."

I just shrug, taking her hand from my face and holding it against my chest, leaning my head back against the edge of the tub, avoiding eye contact once more.

"Chandler…"

"Look, Monica; logically, I know it's not a big deal, but you're already awkward and insecure, it doesn't do much for your ego when you can't get someone interested in you until you're out of college. I mean, college is supposed to be the time when you finally get to let loose and have promiscuous sex and do any number of stupid things, and I didn't do that so much. So by the time I was twenty-three, I was more than ready and probably would have gone to bed with pretty much anyone who offered."

"Oh, God. Janice wasn't your first, was she?"

"Honey, if Janice had been my first, she would have been my only because I would have been too scared to ever have sex again."

She snickers a little, curling herself into me, and part of me feels relieved that she doesn't find me weirder than usual for all of this.

"So, who was it? I must have met her, right? We were already neighbors by that point."

I groan a little bit, bringing my knees up so she presses against me a little closer. "Do you remember Laurie? I went out with her for a few months."

She pauses for a moment, thinking. "Vaguely. Tall, kind of blonde?"

"'Kind of blonde,'" I repeat with a chuckle. "Yeah, that's the one."

"Did she know she was your first?"

"Are you insane? Who wants that kind of pressure? No; we dated for a few weeks, she put the moves on me, we had the most awkward sex in the world, and that was that. It got better after that, fortunately, and maybe afterward she realized that I was not at all experienced, but she never said anything while we were dating. We broke up relatively amicably and that was that. I was a virgin no more, though no really any less awkward with women."

"How many women have you slept with?"

Wow—I was not expecting this conversation tonight. "Do you really want to talk about this? I'm sure you can kind of figure that out, anyway. No offense, but I don't want to know how many other guys you've been with."

She shrugs, her lips pressing against my neck. "I guess that's fair."

"So, when did you lose your virginity?"

"I thought you didn't want to talk about this kind of stuff."

"I'm not asking for a detailed account, but it can be a formative experience."

She crosses her arms on my chest, propping her chin in her hands. "I was twenty. It was mediocre, and with someone I'd only been vaguely dating. You never met him."

"Sounds exciting," I tell her sarcastically.

"The first time always is," she answers with just as much sarcasm. "I was nervous, but I kind of wanted it out of the way, too."

"You went into college super-hot, though, if memory serves; how'd you manage to wait until you were twenty?"

"You're not the only one who was awkward and insecure. Don't forget that I'd spent a lot of years really overweight; being naked in front of someone was not something I was at all comfortable with." My hands tighten around her instinctively, trying to reassure her that she's beautiful and amazing. "I was really hung up on my first time being special and I called my virginity—" She stops talking suddenly, hiding her face in her hands.

"What? What'd you call it?"

She shakes her head, her laughter muffled by her hands. "Oh, my God, it was stupid."

I shift my legs, giving her a little jostle. "Tell me anyway."

She keeps her eyes covered but moves her hands away from her mouth. "I called it…oh, God. I called it 'my flower.'" She hides her face again, her body shaking with laughter despite the fact that she's so embarrassed that even her ears are red.

I bite my lip, trying my hardest not to laugh. "That's, uh…that's interesting." A snort escapes my nose before I can stop it, and in an instant I'm laughing hysterically, my arms tightening around her. "I'm sorry," I gasp. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't laugh."

She just shakes her head again, her own body convulsing with laughter. "No, it's okay," she finally manages. "I was young and naïve and…a little stupid. I think I'd read one too many Judy Blume books and had overly-romanticized the whole thing." She breaks down into laughter again, and I laugh with her, glad that we can have fun with this now, years later.

She gets herself under control, taking a few deep breaths, resting her chin in her hands once more; her eyes are still full of laughter. "So, I take it that when you, uh…were _deflowered_—" She snickers at my choice of words. "It wasn't that special?"

She just shrugs. "Not really. Is it ever? I mean, I certainly didn't tell the guy it was my first time. I thought that by twenty, that wouldn't have been socially acceptable. So, it was all right. Not one for the books, but unfortunately, I've had worse. _He_ seemed to enjoy it, so I guess I did something right."

"You were a girl and you were willing—that's about as 'right' as most guys need, I'm sorry to say."

Her eyes twinkle playfully. "So that's why you enjoy sex with me so much. Glad I figured that out."

I run my hands gently up and down her back, my heart filled with so much love for this woman. "Well, obviously. What other reason could there be for me to like having sex with you?"

She tilts her head to one side, resting her cheek on top of her hand. "No other reason. Same for me, too, you know—you're a guy and you're willing."

"You know, you're saying that to mock me, but all you're doing is uncovering the sad, _sad_ truth about being male. When it comes down to it, we're not terribly picky. Not as a whole, at least. Girl wants to have sex? Okay; let's do it."

"You know, I used to think it was tough being a woman, but really…the kind of crap that you guys live with…I think I'll keep my unpredictable hormones."

I smile, tilting my head down to hers; she stretches up, her lips meeting mine. "Our first time was special, though, right?"

She smiles at me dreamily, sighing. "Our first time was exactly how I wanted my actual first time. It was so sweet and romantic. You were so good to me that night."

I make a little face, shrugging. "Well, if memory serves, we did some stuff that some might call 'bad.'"

She giggles a little, her pupils dilating. "Wonderfully bad. The best bad in the world."

I feel myself grow hard suddenly, her words combined with the look she's giving me and the feel of her body against mine suddenly driving me completely wild. She moans softly as she feels me against her, and I drag her lips back to mine, kissing her deeply. She shifts up on her knees, her arms going around my neck, pulling me closer, and I feel myself shake a little.

"Love you," I mumble around our lips, and she smiles against me.

"Love you, too." She tightens her grip on my shoulders and she's suddenly sliding down on me, the feeling of simultaneously completely familiar and completely foreign with the added element of water.

She pulls her lips from mine, pressing her forehead against my cheek. "Oh, God," she gasps.

My hands immediately go to her hips, gripping tightly. She moves up and down on me a couple of times slowly, experimentally; the feeling is almost weightless.

She slows suddenly, moving against me languidly, her forehead still pressed against me, tiny little gasps and moans tumbling from her lips.

"Monica," I whisper, and she shudders against me, her knees tightening against my sides.

She picks her head up, her eyes meeting mine, all traces of our earlier mirth gone as our focus narrows down to just this moment.

I love this part—it took her a while to get to the point where we could watch each other while we make love, but it's one of the best things in the world. I love to watch the faces she makes, the way her mouth falls open, the way her eyes crinkle with I thrust against her just right, the way I can see right down into her soul, see everything she's thinking and feeling.

It's almost overpowering.

It's definitely like nothing else in the world.

I love this woman so much.

She moves against me slowly, and I can't help but marvel once again that this is my life. Here, with Monica; this incredible woman who loves me back. I get to be with her all the time; in a matter of weeks, I'm going to be living with her.

No turning back.

She clenches around me, holding me inside of her for a few moments, and my eyes roll back in my head as I groan. She relaxes her body and starts to move against me again, a little less gently now.

I get to do this with her, too—that's still mind-blowing. Especially when I consider that conversation we just had. We may both have been slow starters, but I think we're doing all right now.

It hits me that this will be the last woman I ever make love to.

Oh, my God.

That's…amazing.

I never have to be out there again. Well, as long as I don't do anything colossally stupid and ruin the best thing to ever happen to me.

I don't think she'll let me, though. I think she wants to keep me around.

"What?" she asks breathlessly, and I realize that I've stopped moving, that I'm just staring at her.

I just shake my head slowly. "You're amazing." I don't let her respond before I sit up, my arms wrapping around her, my hands trying to be everywhere at the same time. My lips attack her neck as I thrust myself against her, the feeling of her body as it rises and falls against me mixed with the water and bubbles powerful.

Her hands go to the back of my neck, keeping my mouth in place, her head dropping back to expose more soft, flushed skin. "Ohhhh. Ohhhhhhhhh."

She moves against me faster, and I'm vaguely aware that I can hear the water in the tub sloshing against the sides and hitting tile floor.

I move my lips down the front of her throat, groaning into her skin, my fingers digging into her back.

"Chandler," she moans, the sound of my name on her lips during moments of ecstasy one of the most amazing things I've ever heard.

Her hands release my neck suddenly, grabbing the sides of the tub, using it as leverage, pushing against me harder.

My lips move to her collarbone, my hands slide to her front, my fingers stroking the soft skin of her stomach; I feel her muscles quiver and she pushes herself more firmly against me, leaving no space between our bodies..

My hands go to the sides of her breasts, stroking carefully, the soft flesh rising out of and falling back into the water in time with her movements, and I press my face to her chest, my mouth falling open as I gasp for air.

She slams down against my hips, the water changing the way all of this feels, somehow muting it, but enhancing it.

My body doesn't know what to do.

"Oh, yes," she moans suddenly. "Oh, yes yes yes."

Scratch that—my body knows _exactly_ what to do.

I grab her hips once again, pulling her to me, holding her still as I move myself against her, grinding into her as best as I can, pushing desperately.

I pull my lips from her skin, tilting my head back to watch her face as it contorts, her mouth falling open as she gasps for air.

She shifts her grip on the tub, her hands moving to hold on behind my back, pressing us closer together and she lets out a scream as I drive into her.

"Yes. Oh, God, OH YES!"

I tighten my hold in her hips—I know she's close—and with Herculean effort I drag my legs beneath me, rising onto my knees, knowing I'll get a better angle this way, be able to use a bit more force.

"Oh, yeah, oh, yeah. Ohhhhhhhhh."

I bury my face in her neck against, sucking at her delicate skin, nipping her as gently as possible. We pound into each other, driving each other toward the edge, before we mutually slow down for a few moments, just needing a second. Her arms wrap around me again, one hand sliding through my wet hair, giving it a few tugs until I look up at her; her eyes are wild, liquid, her chest moving quickly, her lips swollen, and I just want more of her.

She grabs my face, kissing me, and we begin our attack again, her hips moving against me sinuously and I feel the end rapidly approaching.

She gasps for air around my lips, her mouth opening as we both try to breathe deeply.

I grab her legs and pull them around my waist and that's all It takes before she's rocking against me unevenly, her moan starting low in her chest, changing into a high-pitched wail as her fingers clutch at me, digging into my back.

I pound into her furiously, my body right there on the edge, unable to topple over. She pants into my ear, pushing back as hard as she can, riding me into oblivion.

"Come on, baby," she whispers, her lips on my earlobe, and I feel myself shudder, intensity overwhelming me as my movements become uncoordinated, releasing myself into her, my body tensing as she moans again, stroking my hair as I orgasm.

I collapse against the back of the tub, shivering a moment later as the cool air of the room hits my skin; that's when I realize the water is significantly lower than when we started. I stroke Monica's back, most of it now exposed.

"Housekeeping's going to hate us," she mumbles against my neck and I laugh weakly.

"They probably see this sort of thing all the time. But I'll call the lobby and ask for more towels…when I can move again."

She kisses my jaw, her leg shifting until her toes reach the stopper and she pulls it out, the water starting to drain around us. I give her a squeeze of appreciation—sitting around in _that_ water for much longer wasn't a thrilling thought. She shivers against me, but neither of us make a move to get up.

I open one eye, glancing around the room, landing on the little table near the tub holding forgotten glasses of our complimentary wine and a stack of big, fluffy towels. I stretch over, my hand flopping around a few times before I manage to grab one. I give it a shake and drape it over Monica; it's large enough to cover her entire body and then some.

"Thank you," she whispers, her arms tightening around me. "Let's just make sure we don't fall asleep in. I don't want us to spend the rest of the weekend in pain."

"Mmmm," I agree, forcing my eyes open, knowing that if I don't, I'll be unconscious in moments.

I look down at her; all I can see is the tip of her nose, her eyelashes, the curve of her cheeks as she smiles; she's gorgeous.

I sigh as she adjusts herself against me, trailing my fingers down her spine. I'll drag us out of the tub soon. I just need a few minutes of this.

A few minutes of perfect.


	5. Chapter 5

I think it's the quiet that causes me to open my eyes, ultimately. When you're used to the commotion of a big city at all hours of the day, the sound of nature can be deafening.

I stretch my body as best as I can; Chandler's wrapped tightly around me, so I can't go very far.

Not that I want to go anywhere right now.

I open my eyes and look around the room; early morning light bounces off the high ceilings, the walls all soft greens and blues, not at all flowery and frilly like Chandler worried it might be. It's the perfect place to spend the weekend away from it all.

I close my eyes again and settle back into his arms, sighing happily. _This_ is what our anniversary should have been like; just the two of us, no friends underfoot, no worries, no interruptions.

His grip on me tightens a little and I realize he's groping me in his sleep; arm wrapped around my chest, hand firmly cupping my breast. All I can do is roll my eyes and mentally shake my head. Even while sleeping, he's obsessed with the girls.

He treats them nice, though, so I can't really complain a lot. It's just endlessly amusing to me that he's still just as fascinated by them now as he was a year ago—maybe longer than that.

His erection pushes against my ass insistently and I smile smugly; I don't care how much of a natural morning response it is, I'm just arrogant enough to let myself believe it's because of me.

Judging by just how erect he is, he's probably pretty close to being awake.

Good; the sooner he's awake, the sooner we can have sex again.

I'm a little amazed that my desire for him is stronger now than it ever has been—not that I suspected I would be bored with him. It's just that I want him more now than I ever did at the beginning, and I wanted him a whole hell of a lot back then. We may not have sex as often now as we did a year ago, but now I want him with an intensity that I've never known before.

Just one of the things that makes sex with him even better now.

No—it makes _everything_ better now.

His hand skims down my body without warning, grabbing my thigh and pulling me closer; the shift causes his erection to rub against me, sending delicious shivers through my body. I thread my fingers through his, helping him move my leg into the position he wants it, draping it over his calf.

He takes our joined hands and slides them across my stomach, the pads of his fingers almost tickling me. His other hand, stretched out next to mine under the pillow, our arms supporting our heads, gently toys with the back of my hand, his fingers sliding in and out from between mine, hopefully mimicking what our bodies will be doing shortly. I feel lips on the back of my neck and he moves our hands from my stomach, down in between my thighs, and I gasp at the contact. My eyes flutter shut as the sensations drift through me, washing over me like the tide.

This man really knows what he's doing; I know he likes to credit me with making him so good at sex, and maybe I am part of it, but he _had_ to have had some of these skills to begin with. How else could he have been able to figure out so easily what would make me moan and squirm and orgasm?

His fingers move across me softly, slowly, and a shiver works its way down my body; his hands always feel amazing on me, but when we do this, both of us working together, it's about a million times more erotic.

We move almost casually against each other, the combination of his fingers and his erection rubbing against me making me almost dizzy; morning sex always makes me feel a little lightheaded. I don't know why. And this, knowing there's no one around to bother us, the 'do not disturb' sign hanging from the doorknob to prevent housekeeping from wandering in…it feels like the perfect morning and I've been awake less than ten minutes.

I turn my head and moan, burying my face in our arms; his fingers dance across me a little harder, but only a little. I feel his teeth scrape against my shoulder and I gasp, jerking against him for just a moment.

I realize that we haven't spoken yet; he hasn't even kissed me yet.

Why does that make this even more erotic?

I push my hips back against him and he untangles his fingers from mine; a moment later, I feel his fingers push into me, the palm of his hand rubbing against me.

"God," I whisper, clutching his wrist; I can hear him breathing in my ear but he still says nothing. His fingers move within me slowly, gently, but I feel like I'm on fire everywhere. My insides are already quivering, tightening, just from his gentle ministrations.

I could wake up like this every morning.

I tighten my fingers around his other hand, and I feel him press his lips to the back of my neck.

"Ohhh," I moan softly when I feel his fingers curl inside of me, my foot wrapping around the back of his leg, pulling him closer; he refuses to pick up the pace, but doesn't stop me from pushing back against him faster.

I release his wrist and reach down, grasping his warm flesh in my hand; he hisses into my ear, thrusting against me as I run my fingers up and down him. He moves his hand faster in response, causing me to involuntarily release him. He grunts in satisfaction and I feel my toes curling, my leg muscles tensing, everything tensing before the world explodes behind my eyes, my orgasm rushing over me as he pumps his fingers into me, my leg unraveling from his, my body curling up into a tight ball as I vibrate, my moans muffled by his arm.

His hand pulls away from me suddenly, and I start to groan in protest; an instant later he's pushing into me, filling me, and my groan becomes something else entirely as my body tenses further; the feel of him from just that one simple action is enough to push my orgasm further, drawing it out.

"One simple action." There's nothing simple about it, not really. The feel of our bodies becoming one, our souls joining, the way my heart pounds with love, and the millions of different things I feel every time we make love…no, there's nothing "simple" about it.

He waits until I've mostly stopped spasming before he starts to move his hips slowly against me, and I stretch my body against his, my legs curling around his, the friction even more intense than normal this way. I whimper, my fingers clutching his, and he slides his free hand across my stomach again, his fingers rubbing me gently.

It's almost too much.

"Ohhhhhh, yeah," I moan, waves of intense pleasure shooting through me.

Almost too much, but not quite.

I don't know how he knows when I can handle this sort of onslaught and when I can't; maybe it's all instinct, or maybe he's just that good at reading my body.

He's certainly spent enough time with it over the last year; maybe it'd be weirder if he didn't know this sort of thing.

I push back against him as best I can, not able to get much in the way of traction from this angle—it's definitely on him right now.

Judging by the steady way he's thrusting into me, I think he's okay with that.

I think I am, too.

I'm just desperate for more of him.

I'm always desperate for more.

I reach my hand back, grabbing his hip, trying to encourage his movements, the sound of his skin hitting mine making my head reel. His fingers rub me a little harder in response and my head drops back against his chest, my mouth falling open.

"Ahhhh, God, ohhhhhh."

He thrusts a little harder and I dig my fingers into his skin, needing him closer.

Everything is so hazy right now; I'm almost completely lost in a swirl of sensations, of feelings, and it's like we're trapped in our own little bubble, completely secluded from the world, all of our worries and concerns hours away in Manhattan; it feels like nothing can touch us out here.

We're all there is, and it's the most magical feeling in the world.

I feel his weight shift, the arm that's been pressed against mine disappearing as he props himself up on his elbow; I can feel his eyes on me, but I'm almost afraid to look. His eyes don't hide much from me, but in the mornings his guard is usually completely down; what I can see in their depths is astounding, but combined with all the other things he's doing to me right now, it might be too much.

His fingers carefully hold on to my arm, giving him more leverage as he moves within me; I feel his lips on my neck and I cry out, clenching myself around him for a few moments, feeling his hips speed up marginally.

His hand is gone from me suddenly, removing my fingers from his hip, and I make a noise of protest. He moves my fingers between my legs, keeping his hand on mine for a few moments, our fingers moving in tandem.

"Ohh ohh ohhhh ohhhhhh yes. Oh, yes. Oh, God, please, yes."

He moves his hand to my breasts, leaving me to my own devices. He's the only person I'd do this for, but I know how much he likes to watch, how much it turns him on when I touch myself. His thrusts come harder, faster, so I know it's working for him this time, too.

Any one of the things happening to my body right now is enough to get me off on a good day, but the combined sensation of his fingers gently pulling my nipples, my fingers rubbing against myself, and the beautiful rhythm of him moving in and out of me is unbelievable.

A dry sob rips out of my chest as his grip on me tightens, his hips moving faster.

I don't ever want this to end; he doesn't feel anywhere near a stopping point.

Sometimes I wish it were possible for us to make love for hours at a time, but I think I would actually go insane. I have a hard enough time holding onto reality during our regular sessions; if these feelings could be extended for hours, I don't know what I'd do with myself.

I've never been into drugs—maybe I'm too uptight to enjoy that sort of loss of control. I don't know; that sort of thing has never held any interest for me. But being with Chandler like this is what I imagine Ecstasy to be like, though I don't know if any sort of artificial high could ever compare to the way he makes me feel. I don't think it could even enhance it.

I feel his lips on my cheek and I turn my head, unable to go without kissing him any longer; our lips meet, frantically at first, making up for lost time, before that slows down, too. Everything slows down; he thrusts against me languidly, his fingers toy with me gently, caressing me softly, my own fingers just a gentle stroke against my own flesh as our lips meet over and over again, very slowly, very tenderly.

I stretch my hand out and my fingertips rub over him as he moves, my fingertips running over the wonderful lines and ridges of him that cause otherworldly sensations in me, the feel of him almost like warm, silky steel. His grip on me increases as I caress him; he moans into my mouth and my grip reflexively tightens.

He moves against me faster.

I feel his legs move as he props them up behind me, and instantly his angle changes, his hand shifting to my hip as I yell out, pushing my back against him, trying to get closer.

His fingers dig into my skin as his thrusts become more insistent.

I tear my lips from his finally, gasping, moaning. I drag my arm out from under the pillow, propping myself up, too, my head falling forward as his lips trail across the back of my neck, my shoulder, down my arm and back. The hand that was holding my arm slides against me, our fingers twining once more, my knuckles already turning white.

His hand on my hip spreads out, stretching across my stomach, pulling me closer; his hips stop moving for a few moments and we grind together, our hips moving in opposing circles.

My head drops down to our joined hands as I moan, and I feel sweat drip down the sides of my face. He starts thrusting against me again, much harder and faster this time. My body convulses for a few moments and my head comes back up; his hand leaves my stomach to sweep the hair off my neck, my flushed skin thankful for the reprieve until I feel him sucking at the soft flesh on the side of my throat. My hand reaches blindly behind me, finding the back of his head, my fingers running through the damp strands, my nails scratching gently at his scalp.

I feel the spring coiling in my stomach and I push my hips back against his with as much force as I can; I need this and I need it _now_.

His hand goes back to my hip, controlling my motions as well as his own, and I can tell by the way he's breathing and the sounds he's making that he's close, too.

I look over my shoulder, finally brave enough to look at him, and I feel tears instantly fill my eyes. There's no way to describe what I see other than it's everything. Just _everything_. Every doubt and fear, all the love, the passion, the sensitivity…all of it is right there, focused on me, directed at _me_.

Blood rushes through my ears as my chest constricts, my heart swelling; our twined fingers tighten against each other. He leans forward, his lips against my ear, and whispers, "I love you."

"AHHHHHHHHH!" My eyes slam shut as my orgasm tears through me, his declaration of love more than enough to send me over the edge several times over. I thrust against him wildly, my head spinning.

"OHMYGOD OHHHHHHH."

I grab his hand and bring it between my thighs, both of us rubbing me furiously and I feel like I'm splitting apart but I don't want it to ever stop.

I hear him groan into my ear, his hips moving faster, faster, faster just before his body goes tense and he yells out, too. The arms that have kept us propped up wrap around me suddenly, both of us dropping to the bed as we buck against each other, the fingers of his other hand still moving against me as quickly as he can, what feels like another orgasm spilling over me.

I can't stop; I don't want to stop. Right now, it really _is_ too much and I don't care. I'm screaming and sobbing and writhing and I don't want it end.

His hips are still pounding against me, his body tense behind me, his groans loud in my ear.

My body shakes violently; even with my eyes shut, the edges of my vision grows blurry. I let out another wail and my body finally gives out, collapsing bonelessly against him. His grip on me tightens just a bit more, holding me close, his body rock hard for a few moments before he groans and collapses, too, his body draped over mine, his skin slick and hot against me, his chest heaving as he gasps for air.

Damn.

He rolls off of me onto his back, and I immediately turn over, wrapping myself around him, my body still vibrating as aftershocks run through me, electrifying me.

"Wow," he breathes, and I can't help the grin that splits my face. His arms envelop me; I reach down and grab the blanket we managed to kick off during the morning's activities.

"Really?" I ask him, even though I know the answer

He kisses my forehead. "And a good morning to you, too."

I laugh as I slide my leg down his, pressing myself against him; I feel him pause and I angle my head so I can look up at him, shrugging. "Sorry. I've got all kinds of endorphins and things running through me right now. Give me a few minutes, I'll calm down."

"Yeah, because I already feel like I need a nap," he answers, turning his face into his shoulder to stifle a yawn. "But if you need a little something extra, I'm sure I could find the strength somehow…" His hand slides down my body, caressing my leg and I jump, making him laugh.

"No, I think I'm good for now." I shiver a little, a few more aftershocks making their way through my system. I stretch across his body toward the nightstand, reaching for my watch, and feel his lips casually wrap around my nipple, his eyes closing as a smile spreads across his face. My heart rate triples as I try to ignore him, my hand shaking as I try to look at the face of my watch. "It's not even seven," I tell him, my voice tight.

"Mmmhmmm," he mumbles, one hand sliding up to my shoulder blade, keeping me pressed against him, his other hand cupping my breast, his mouth still happily working on the other one.

My eyes shut as I let out a shuddery sigh, tingling down to my toes. "I thought you needed a nap," I remind him.

He shrugs, his lips never leaving me. His body is still relaxed beneath mine, nothing is stirring; he seems perfectly content to just suckle at my breasts.

Meanwhile, I think he's trying to kill me.

"What are you doing?" I whisper, and his fingers tighten against my back.

"You know what I'm doing," he murmurs, the vibrations as he speaks sending even more shivers down my spine. "I don't think you're done yet." His legs shift and he pushes me over, his body coming to rest on top of mine. He switches breasts, humming happily.

"Oh, God," I breathe; this cannot be happening again. How can he do these things to me?

"You know," he says, his lips tracing over my sensitive skin. "I read that something like fifty percent of women can orgasm from breast and nipple stimulation alone. That ever happened to you?"

"N-no, I don't think so," I answer, though if that statistic is true, I'm surprised that I haven't considering the sort of reaction he gets from me with this.

"Hmm," is all he says before I feel him suck at me, grazing my nipple with his teeth, and my fingers dig into his shoulders.

My hips thrust up against him involuntarily—apparently, this is going to happen again.

Not that I'm complaining, though I may not be able to move for the rest of the day.

Of course, my body is still on its high from the massive orgasm I just had, so maybe I just need a little push over the edge.

I don't care—it just feels really damn good.

I whimper as his hand squeezes me roughly, bucking against him, surprised to find that he's not even a little hard against me. Instantly, I feel smug; he gets cocky when he can make orgasm a few times in a row, and I get cocky when I've worn him out so much that even his blood won't flow south.

Still, he grinds himself into me and I shudder, my legs wrapping around his. "Oh, Chandler," I whisper.

"One more, baby," he says softly. "I know you can."

I don't know what it is—the tone of his voice, the feeling of his lips on me, his hands on me, the fact that my body still feels like high voltage is coursing through me, or a combination of all of that—but I'm suddenly thrusting against him yet again, an orgasm rippling through me, thankfully less intense than before. His free hand immediately moves in between us, letting me push against him, his fingers stroking me softly.

"Ohhh ohhhhhhhhh ohh." I hold onto him, my body curling against his, his lips pulling at me just long enough before easing back, letting me ride the waves.

My body relaxes beneath his—I don't remember the last time I felt quite so satisfied. My eyes open and I blink down at him, his chin resting on my chest. I reach out a shaky, uncoordinated hand, stroking his face; maybe he feels smug about the number of orgasms I've already had today, but he doesn't look it. He just smiles at me happily, sleepily.

I smile back at him, suddenly feeling more content than I ever have before. "I love you," I tell him. He presses a kiss to my sternum, turning his head to rest on top of my heart, still thumping erratically from the morning's exertions.

"I know," he answers, and we wrap our arms around each other a little more tightly.

I feel his breathing starting to even out and I give him a little tug; he blinks up at me sleepily. I tug at him again and he slides up me, his lips meeting mine, kissing me slowly, soft, happy noises coming from both of us.

"Good morning," I whisper. He shifts his weight off me and settle beside me, his head next to mine on the pillow. He drapes his arm across my chest and I realize that, once again, he's groping me. "They're not going anywhere," I mumble, struggling to keep my eyes open. He just shrugs.

"Just in case." He kisses my shoulder. "See you in a couple of hours."

My eyes drift shut, sleep taking me away almost instantly.

* * *

><p>*AN…so, I guess you guys are going to make me beg for reviews again. So, please? I'm actually quite insecure about this fic as it's so different from The World Will Follow, and I kind of need reassurance that it's working, that it's interesting, that it's believable, that sort of thing. Sorry I'm so insecure, but feedback really does help.


	6. Chapter 6

I stretch lazily against the blanket, my head pillowed on Monica's stomach, the late afternoon sun warming us pleasantly. Monica's hand plays lazily with my hair, her other arm draped across her eyes, shielding herself from the light filtering in through the leaves of the tree we're sitting under.

This moment is so perfect; just the two of us, the gently rolling hills around us, the faint smell of grapes wafting toward us from the vineyard…I could stay like this forever.

It's a shame that we have to go back to reality tomorrow; traffic, deadlines, bills, drama, and just our everyday lives.

Of course, our everyday life has been pretty awesome lately, so it's not so terrible.

Monica's nails scratch at my scalp, sending shivers down my spine. She shifts a little, and I look up as she grabs the extra blanket, putting it under her head. She smiles at me as our eyes meet; my heartbeat picks up a little.

She always does that to me. It doesn't take much.

"I love you," she says softly.

"Yeah?" I ask, my hand reaching out to stroke her arm.

"Yeah. Thank you for this weekend."

"We needed it."

"Hmmmm," she agrees, her smile growing wider, her eyes twinkling. "I needed all of those orgasms."

"You are welcome," I say, my chest automatically puffing out. Few things fill me with stupid, male pride more than making Monica moan; being able to do it multiple times in one session does things to my ego that I don't like to think about. The thing is, though—and I know I sound like a broken record—I really, really like having sex with her, and I know that the more orgasms she has, the more she likes having sex with me. I always have a minimum goal of one-to-one, though I like to aim for two-to-one. Anything more than that is just icing on the cake. But I discovered quite some time ago that sex is a hell of a lot more fun if all parties involved are having a good time—hence the lesson from Monica a couple of years ago about women's erogenous zones.

I'm going to go out on a limb and say it's been beneficial for us both.

We spent most of the morning in bed, a luxury we don't often have at home, something we've rarely done in the year and some change we've been together; it was nice. It was better than nice, actually, wasting away the hours together, in each other's arms, making love. The only reason we finally emerged from our cocoon was because our stomachs were rumbling. We managed to miss the 'breakfast' part of the 'bed-and-breakfast' experience, but I'd say that was time well spent.

I turn on my side so that I can face Monica fully; I could look at her for hours. She's absolutely captivating. Her eyes are completely hypnotic; sometimes we lie in bed at night and stare at each other. That's all. We just look at each other, take each other in; sometimes, it's to make sure that it's not a dream, or that if it all went to hell tomorrow, I'd always be able to remember ever tiny detail about her face.

"Sometimes I have a hard time believing this is my life," she says, her fingers tracing delicate patterns on my head.

I love how in sync we are with each other sometimes; I think it, she says it, and then the other way around. Of course, it's possible she stares at me for the same reasons I stare at her.

"Why's that?"

"How many people get to fall in love with their friend? And not in some stupid, angsty, one-sided, drawn-out way on a TV show or in a movie—actual, honest-to-God _love_. It's incredible. I don't know what I did to deserve it."

I lift an eyebrow to her skeptically. "You? I think I'm the lucky one in this relationship. You're way out of my league, honey."

"Why would you say that?"

"Have you seen you? You're _hot_."

She rolls her eyes at me, a smile tugging at her lips. "I think you're hot."

I decide not to argue that point—I think she means it. "Regardless, you're hot to the rest of the world, too." She scrunches her nose at me, blushing, so I keep going. "I get to walk around with the most beautiful woman in the world and know she's mine. I'm sure that every day, people look at the two of us together and wonder how a schmuck like me wound up with a girl like you. I wonder that, too, actually."

"You're not a schmuck, Chandler; you're sweet, and loving, and the most amazing person I've ever known. You're wonderful, and when people see us together, I'm sure all they notice is how much in love we are."

"You think they can see that?"

"I think it's pretty hard to miss. I can tell just by looking at you right now."

I smile as I try to shift myself a little closer to her; now that she mentions it, it's pretty blatantly obvious by looking at her, too.

"I just get so worried that I'm going to wake up one day and be alone," she tells me, her forehead crinkling. "This past year will have just been some wonderful figment of my imagination…I couldn't handle that. If this is all a dream…"

"Babe, if it's all a dream, please come find me when you wake up. I'm sure that Chandler would also need very little convincing to be with you."

"Really?"

"I'm positive."

Her forehead wrinkles again. "But…what if I lose you somehow? What if—"

"The only way you're getting rid of me is by force. You are the best thing in my life and I'll never give you up." She smiles at me slowly, the worry on her face disappearing. "I'm serious. If you want me to leave, it's going to take a _lot_ of effort on your part, plus people to actually physically move me. I'm not going anywhere, and I'm going to do my best to make sure you don't, either."

She gives the back of my head a little tug. "Come here."

I shift my weight and crawl up her, bracing my hands next to her head as I lean down and kiss her, aware that we're not the only ones around right now; I don't fancy being arrested for indecent exposure, and I doubt Monica would be thrilled with it, either.

"I can't wait to live with you," she says against my lips, and I lay down beside her, her arms wrapping around me. I settle my head against her shoulder and sigh.

"How long do you think it'll take Rachel to get her stuff over to Ross's?"

"Hopefully she's packing right now. It's only across the street; there's no reason why she can't just bring stuff over constantly."

"Do you think it's a good idea for Ross and Rachel to live together?"

She kisses my forehead and sighs. "Is it horrible of me to say that I really don't care?" I chuckle a little, surprised, and she laughs with me. "I didn't mean that as badly as it sounds, I promise. I just mean that if it gives her a place to live and gets you in the apartment…I'm good with it. Considering they drunkenly got married in Vegas, maybe being roommates isn't the best idea, but they're grown ups. They should be able to handle it."

"You'd think, but…" my voice trails off; we both know that none of us are great at being adults most of the time. Hopefully, living with someone will help me to some degree.

"Yeah, I know," she says. "Either way, it's happening soon. You're going to have to see me all the time, morning, noon, and night. Hope you're prepared for that."

"I already do that."

"With no escape," she reminds me.

"I'm okay with that."

"You sure?"

Her arms are tense all of a sudden; she's not teasing me for the moment. "I'm very sure."

"Because you can still get out of it—"

I press my lips to hers, silencing her. The past month or so have been filled with constant questions and reassurances, both of us having moments of doubt, though not that we want to do this. More that we each need to make sure this is what the other wants to do.

"I suggested this, remember?"

"I know."

"This is what I want. You still want it too, right?"

"Of course I do."

"Then let's just finish the weekend. We'll get back to all that reality crap tomorrow."

She pulls back to look at me, her eyes crinkling as she smiles. "When'd you get so wise?"

"London time," I tell her, giving her hip a little squeeze. "All of my wisdom came from that one move."

Her grin widens—"London Time" is one of our favorites, both of us considering it one of the best moves I ever made.

"Okay, so, what do you want to do tonight?" I wink at her, leaning in to give her a quick peck. She sighs dramatically and rolls her eyes. "Aside from _that_. I know you always want to do _that_. I mean what do you want to do before we get all naked?"

I roll onto my back, giving her a tug and she drapes herself over me. My hand slides down her back, down her thigh to the hem of her dress, and even though I'm still sort of recovering from our morning in bed, I desperately wish we were somewhere private. "Dinner at the hotel restaurant? I mean, since we missed breakfast and all. We could eat on the patio, enjoy the peace and quiet."

She snuggles into me, humming happily. "Yeah—we could do that. It's so quiet here it'll practically be just the two of us. You, me, the sunset…"

It's such a simple image, but it's enough to make my heart nearly burst with happiness. The two of us. It doesn't even matter what we're doing—as long as it's the two of us, it's great.

"We're the perfect couple, you know," I say suddenly, and even though I know we're not perfect as individuals, I know that when we're together, it just fits. "We should have gotten together years ago."

"Hey—Flock of Seagulls." I cringe at the memory; that hair was something else. "If you recall, I was all about getting together with you years ago."

I sigh. "I know. Need I remind you how much of an idiot I was at eighteen? I'll do it. That hair alone should have been enough to tell you that I wasn't the sharpest tool in the shed."

"Well, stupid stuff like that was in, so I didn't think too much about it. I had some pretty big hair myself." She pauses, and I can feel her smile against my neck. "Had to try to balance out the ass somehow."

I groan and shake my head. "Mon…"

"I know, I know. Still, my big brother's college roommate. I was so excited. All I could think about was telling people that I had a boyfriend in college."

"Then I was an ass and that went right out the window—I know."

"You know what the horrible part is? I still liked you. I hated you and I liked you. I lost all that weight because of you—it certainly wasn't the first time someone had called me fat, you know. I became a chef because of you, too."

"If you still liked me, then you shouldn't have cut off my toe."

"Are we really going to have this discussion again?"

I let out my best put upon sigh. "_Fine_. We won't talk about my poor, mangled foot. Ow!" I exclaim, laughing as she pinches my side.

"Hey; if she cuts off your toe, it must be love."

"Love really does hurt." She kicks my shin, and I yelp out in pain again, still laughing. "I'm being abused by my girlfriend."

"Whah whah whah," she teases, running her foot gently up and down my calf.

"Well, at any rate, I'm sorry I was such an idiot back then."

"Sing 'Careless Whisper' to me and all is forgiven."

"What?"

"You're the one who rushed the stage at a Wham! concert, remember? I would think you of all people would know what I'm talking about."

"Well, of course I do—I just didn't know you were into them, too." I wrap my arms around her, trying to limit her range of motion. "This is so great! We can start looking for reunion tours and travel around the world, following George Michael—"

"No!" she exclaims, struggling to free her arms. "I won't do it."

"Oh, come on, baby, it'll be fun. It's something we can do as a couple."

"You're ridiculous," she tells me, laughing. I roll us over, pinning her to the soft ground beneath us.

"At least you love me,"

"Against my better judgment."

"Ooo. Ouch. The claws come out."

She giggles, freeing one arm and pulling my face down to hers, kissing me around our laughter.

"I'm never gonna dance again," I sing to her suddenly, pulling my lips away. "Guilty feet have got no rhythm."

She burst s out laughing again. "Stop!"

"Though it's easy to pretend—"

She grabs the back of my neck, bringing my lips to hers once more, both of us still laughing, and I'm smart enough now to know when to stop.

Mostly. I can't stop myself from humming a little bit of "Wake Me Up Before You Go-Go."

Until she pinches my side again.

I love this woman so much.


	7. Chapter 7

I look down at my hand, my fingers wrapped around Chandler's, and make a face. I look at him out of the corner of my eye—he's looking at the TV, completely absorbed in…whatever it is we're watching.

This feels a little weird. I hate that. It shouldn't be weird; we've been waiting for months for this day—the day when he could finally move in and we could just have time to ourselves.

Now we do, and I don't know how what we should be doing. It's never really just been the two of us. There's always someone else around, or someone we were hiding from. Now…there's nothing.

Just us.

And I love it—don't get me wrong. I guess I'm just not used to it.

As ready as I was for Rachel to move out, I don't know if I was prepared for just how empty her room would look or how quiet the apartment would feel.

Usually, at this time of night, Ross and Phoebe would be leaving, and Joey would be headed out for his latest conquest, but Rachel would still be out in the living room with us, watching TV or talking until one of us decided it was time for bed.

But Rachel and Phoebe spent most of the day at their place getting Rachel settled in—we saw them at the coffeehouse for a little while, but they seemed pretty eager to get back to their lives. Joey and Ross were over for a little while, but for most of the night, it's just been us.

All of his stuff is over here now, though we haven't gotten it all put away yet. We worked on it for a little while, though there's still some stuff that needs to be put into new homes.

That godforsaken dog is out on the balcony.

At least Chandler's not thrilled with it, either, but it seemed to mean a lot to Joey that we have it.

I push myself into Chandler's side and he releases my fingers, wrapping an arm around my shoulders, pulling me close. I feel him kiss the top of my head—he seems to be dealing with this whole big change very well.

He doesn't seem as confused by it all, not the way I am, at any rate.

I think my fight with Rachel last night is still throwing me off. We patched things up, but some of what she said is still bothering me.

I didn't just stumble across the hall to find a boyfriend. I had no idea when I slept with Chandler back in London that we would ever be more than just a one night stand, and I certainly never stayed with him just because I wanted a boyfriend. I stayed with him because I love him, and he's everything I ever wanted.

It kind of hurts that someone would ever think that, though, and it would probably crush Chandler if he ever heard that Rachel said that about our relationship.

I mean, if all I wanted was a boyfriend, I'm sure I could have managed that. I wanted a relationship. I _have_ a relationship. I have the best guy in the world by my side. A guy that I truly think I could spend forever with.

There's no way in the world I'd be thinking about that kind of future with him if I was so hard-up for a boyfriend that I was willing to take just any warm body I stumbled across.

Despite the outward appearance of the night I went to his hotel room.

Yes, I was looking for Joey and wound up with Chandler, but I don't think that means at all that I was looking for just anyone. I could have found just anyone if that's what I wanted. I needed someone I could trust, who wouldn't hurt me or judge me for needing a one-night-stand. When it comes down to it, I don't know if I could have brought myself to sleep with Joey, and if kissing Chandler hadn't felt like a piece of a puzzle falling into place, I don't know that I would have slept with him either. But Chandler felt right.

Besides—Rachel doesn't know about the Joey thing. _No one_ knows about that. And I don't think it matters.

Because Chandler is wonderful, and I wouldn't spend more than a year with him if this wasn't what I wanted out of life.

I know that it's true, and I hope he does, too. Ultimately, it doesn't matter at all if that's what Rachel or anyone else thinks, but that doesn't mean it doesn't sting when she says something like that.

As weird as it feels right now, I still know that living with him is what I want to do. In a few days or, at worst, a few weeks, this will feel like normal.

A new normal. A wonderful normal.

It still feels nice to think that this is our place now.

Even with that ugly chair of his.

No—you don't consider a future with someone just because you're desperate to not be alone. I was boyfriendless for about a year and that was because I didn't want to waste time with other people. Drunken one-night-stand before my brother's wedding…okay, maybe a little desperate. But what we have isn't built on that. He doesn't make my heart pound because he's convenient.

I'm so excited about this. It'll take us some time to get used to each other's rhythms, at least in this respect, but we'll be all right. We both know this is just a stepping stone. At some point we'll talk more about the bigger stuff, like marriage and babies.

That babies thing has been on my mind a lot more lately.

Watching him hold Phoebe's niece last week definitely did things to me that I wasn't expecting. I know he panics when the subject of kids is brought up, but he's a natural with them. Little Chandler just sat on his lap, perfectly content. At one point, she even fell asleep on him, and I watched him sway her back and forth without even thinking about it. He just walked around the apartment with the baby in one arm, carrying on about his normal life, and all I could think about was how this is the man I want to have children with.

This is not a vague, "I want to have kids someday" sort of thing; this is a definite "I want to have kids with Chandler" sort of thing. He's going to be the father of my children some day.

That thought makes my heart want to explode from happiness.

I know I nearly sent him into a tailspin when I came _this close_ to saying watching the triplets would give us great practice—I know he knew that I was going to say when we have our own. It just almost fell out of my mouth. Practicing for parenthood with him seems like the most natural thing in the world.

He's still very skittish about some things, and the babies talk is still a ways off.

I don't mind, though, as long as he's willing to have that talk at some point.

We'll get there.

I feel his hand stroke my arm and I look up at him, smiling when I see the look in his eyes. He's really happy.

That makes this a lot less weird.

"You know what we've never really talked about?" he asks suddenly.

I know where my mind goes instantly—kids. I'm positive that's not what he's thinking about, though. "What's that?"

"Our sides of the bed. You ever notice that? We just kind of…fall asleep."

"Well, I sort of noticed at one point, but it didn't really matter."

"Really? Why didn't you say anything?"

I just shrug. "Well, like you said, we usually just fall asleep. It's never felt important."

"Monica," he says slowly, and I look up at him again. "Have I been sleeping on your side of the bed?"

"Technically?"

"Not technically. Actually."

"Well, maybe, you tend to fall asleep on the side of the bed that I usually prefer. _But_," I hurry to say. "It doesn't matter because I'm happy just to sleep next to you. Honestly. Since we've been together, I haven't had any trouble sleeping, regardless of what side of the bed I'm on. So, I don't really have a 'side' anymore. You're there, I'm happy."

"You know, I guess I haven't really thought about it, but you're right. That's always been my side, too, but I've never really thought about it when we fall asleep. Should we…figure that out, though?"

"What, you mean have an official side of the bed? Does it really matter? We can if you want to, but I'm okay with things the way they've been going. I don't need a designated nightstand or anything; I don't mind sharing with you. I don't think there's going to be much to hide."

He presses a kiss to the side of my head. "Are you sure?"

"Definitely," I answer, nodding. "I don't mind at all tumbling into bed every night and seeing where we land."

"Well, what do you say we tumble into bed now?" he asks softly.

A shiver runs down my spine. Our first night in our apartment. "I'd love to."

He grabs the remote and turns off the TV, taking my hand as he stands. Together, we walk slowly to the bedroom.

_Our_ bedroom.

Part of me can't believe this is actually happening, and suddenly, it doesn't feel weird at all.

It just feels incredibly right.

I look around the room—he's everywhere now. His clothes are in the closet and the drawers, some of his knickknacks are mixed with mine on top of bureaus.

It's starting to look like our place.

His lips are on my neck suddenly and I smile. I think we definitely deserve "we just moved in together" sex.

His fingers slide under the edge of my shirt, tracing the outside of my bellybutton for a few moments before they disappear into the waistband of my jeans.

"Right to the point," I mumble and he laughs against my neck. I turn in his arms, leaning up to kiss him. My fingers tug at the buttons of his shirt, popping a few of them open before I'm distracted by him opening the button on my pants. He steps back, dropping to his knees in front of me, his hands tugging my pants down my legs. I kick them to the side as he presses his lips to my stomach, his teeth gently scraping at my skin. I run my fingers through his hair, scratching the back of his neck with a sigh.

He nips at me through my panties all of a sudden and I gasp, my body jerking against him. His hands stroke my ass gently as he teases me, and I can feel myself responding to him, getting worked up already.

I grab the bottom of my shirt and toss it over my shoulder; I look down at him, his eyes already on me.

It's almost unnerving.

He drags his lips up my body, taking moments to bite at my skin. He takes my face in his hands and I look up at him, having one of those moments where it feels like he towers over me.

"Welcome home," I whisper, and he smiles, pressing his lips to mine, kissing me softly. I moan softly into his mouth, my fingers working the buttons of his shirt again. I push it off his shoulders and grab at his t-shirt, keeping him close to me.

I know it's crazy, but there's something unbelievably hot about me being in nothing but my underwear while he's fully dressed. Ordinarily, I'd assume it's the sort of thing he'd be into, and he is, but it arouses the hell out of me, too.

I feel his fingers slide in between my breasts, popping open the front clasp of my bra. For a second I wonder how he knew where to find it, but he was with me when I got dressed this morning; I'm sure my underwear is something he pays close attention to.

The garment falls off my shoulders and I sit on the edge of the bed, working at the button of his jeans, unzipping them carefully over his erection. I only push them a little past his hips, fascinated by the sight of him straining against his boxer briefs, the heady sensation of knowing that _I_ do this to him running through my veins.

_I_ excite him. _I_ make him happy.

I run my fingers over him gently and he hisses, his eyes falling shut as his hips thrust gently against my touch. I push his pants down the rest of way and he grabs the back of his shirt, yanking it over his head. I run my hands down his legs, my fingers sliding under the legs of his shorts.

I want him so bad.

He pushes his underwear down, his erection springing free; I groan, and before I can help myself, I grab his hips and pull him to me, my lips sliding over him. His hand immediately threads through my hair, and I can feel the tension in his arm as he tries not force my head down.

Dear GOD, I love doing this. I love doing it to him.

I move my mouth slowly, humming with happiness, and I feel him shiver. I run my tongue over him carefully, making sure to take in every bit of him that I can. I move closer, needing to be closer to him; I'm so turned on right now I can't stand it.

I feel his hand tugging the hair at the nape of my neck and I moan, goosebumps popping up all over my arms. I slide my hand under the waistband of my pants, squeaking at little at the contact, the relief I feel almost instantaneous. I move against him faster and he groans loudly.

"Jesus, Monica!" he exclaims suddenly. I open my eyes and look up at him; his eyes are wide and I feel his hips jerk against me a couple of times. I realize I must look like some sort of porn fantasy right now, but I don't care. It all feels too good.

With a great deal of effort, he takes a step back from me, both of us breathing heavily. He bends over, his hands on his knees and I see him swallow heavily as he realizes I haven't stopped working on myself. I watch one of his hands come up and he strokes himself gently and my entire body starts to vibrate. I move my hand for a second to rip off my underwear, my fingers returning to their ministrations. I bite my lip as I arch my back, my other hand supporting myself on the bed as we stare at each other, our moans filling the room.

It's like a standoff, each of us waiting to see who'll cave first.

Maybe it makes me cocky, but I'm pretty sure I can win this one. I quite enjoy watching him touch himself, especially when I know it's because I've turned him on, but _nothing_ gets him off faster than when he watches me.

My eyes drift shut as I gasp, my hips thrusting against my hand. Chandler whimpers and I hear him shuffle toward me. I take that as my cue and scoot myself back on the bed, laying down, bracing my feet on the mattress as I wait. Kneels on the bed and crawls toward me, his body settling against mine as my legs wrap around him. His warm, comforting weight settles against me, his hand stroking my side.

He smiles, kissing me gently, and I run my hand down his spine. "We actually moved in together," he whispers. "Can you believe it?"

I shift myself against him, humming happily of the feel of him pressing into me. "This is going to be so amazing."

He kisses my nose playfully. "The sex?"

"Obviously."

He chuckles a little, giving me another kiss. "You're right. Living together is going to be great."

"I'm so happy," I say softly, grinning up at him. He runs his fingers through my hair, and I can feel his heart beating steadily against my chest.

"Then I'm happy." His lips are on mine again, kissing me passionately, his body moving against mine. I wrap myself around him tightly, needing to feel him close.

He pulls back, looking into my eyes, his expression suddenly a bit more serious. "I love you. I don't know if I've told you that today."

"You don't have to tell me every day," I whisper, stroking his cheek.

"Yes, I do."

I bite the inside of my cheek, trying to contain my smile. "I love you, too."

He rests his forehead against mine and shifts his hips, moving himself against me gently, and I let out a shuddery moan. Just this feels amazing.

I unravel one of my legs from his waist, rubbing my foot against his calf, and I can feel him at my entrance. I push my hips up a little and he slides into me, filling me completely; my body simultaneously tenses up and tries to go slack. I don't know what it is that he does to me, but it's pretty unbelievable.

He move against me slowly, his eyes never leaving mine—I can't believe this used to freak me out. Now, watching each other when we make love is an extraordinary experience. I love watching his eyes change colors, and the way his forehead furrows in concentration.

I feel his knees come up behind my thighs and I gasp, my fingers digging into his back.

"Chandler," I whisper, and he gives me a gentle kiss.

"Monica," he answers just as quietly.

Somehow, we manage to speak volumes.

He moves to my neck, and I feel him nip at my throat. My arms tense around him as my back arches, and I somehow vaguely notice that we're completely upside down on the bed.

He pauses for a second and I feel his hands shift behind me, resting under my head as he grabs onto the edge of the mattress. All of a sudden, he's pounding into me; my eyes slam shut against the onslaught, my body humming with electricity, every nerve ending on fire.

"Oh, God," I moan, and he moves his hips faster. "Oh, God. Yes. Oh, _yes_."

Without warning, he slows down, resuming his gentle, languid pace. I let out a strangled sound, my body suddenly feeling deprived.

"Why'd you stop?" I groan.

"We're just getting started, baby."

My toes actually curl.

I feel one of his hands slide between us, and for just a second I wonder if I can handle this before I feel his fingers rubbing against me.

My back arches even farther off the bed and I lock my ankles against his lower back, clenching myself around him. He just moves his fingers faster.

I bite his shoulder, possibly hard enough to leave a mark, a sob-like noise leaving my mouth. I push my hips faster, and I feel like I'm so close already.

Suddenly, his hand is gone and my eyes fly open. He moves slowly against me once more.

"You're being an ass on purpose," I gasp, my thighs clutching at his sides, my muscles trembling.

"Our first night together in _our_ apartment should be special," he breathes as he thrusts into me.

"Ohhhhhhhhhh."

"You deserve special."

"Chandlerrrrrrrr."

His lips are on mine again, his hips pounding into me, and I feel my legs curl up, my knees pressed against his ribs. My mind can't keep up with him right now, and maybe that's for the best.

Thinking is so overrated.

My head falls back, hanging over the edge of the bed, and his lips attacks my throat, my chest, my shoulders. His hips slow down again, but he still drives into me ceaselessly.

"Oh, God, baby," I moan into his ear, and feel his body tense for just a second. I thought it would get old eventually, but he likes how noisy I am. He says it's good for his ego.

He groans into my ear and I kiss his neck. "I love you so much," I gasp; he wraps his arms around me tighter, pushing his hips up a little every time he strokes into me, grinding his pelvis against mine.

"Yes. Yes yes yes. Oh, my God, please. Like that ohhhhhhhh."

I can hear his heaving breathing in my ear, his breath hot and damp against my neck, and I suddenly feel weightless, like I'm flying.

It's amazing.

My eyes fly open suddenly—I'm not flying, I'm falling. Chandler's been driving into me so hard that I'm slipping off the back of the bed.

An instant later I hit the floor, cringing as I land on my back. My eyes go wide as I see Chandler coming at me. I brace myself to be crushed, my eyes closing tightly instinctively.

I hear a thud and crack one eye open—Chandler's wincing, but he's managed to catch himself mostly on his hands, most of his weight off of me.

"Oh, honey, are you okay?" I ask, reaching up to stroke his face.

He groans as he drags himself to his knees, flinching again; I'm guessing he landed on those, too. He braces his back against the footboard, looking at me pathetically, and I bite my lip, trying to stifle my laughter.

"It's not funny," he tells me and I sit up, snorting.

"It really is, actually. We fell off the bed during sex. That's kind of hilarious." I let out a groan as I laugh, my hand going to my lower back.

That's going to suck in the morning.

"That was _nothing_ like in the movies," he complains, giving his hand a little shake, flexing his fingers. "In movies, they roll off the bed and keep going."

I climb onto his lap, still trying to fight my laughter. "In movies, they have stunt doubles and mats to fall on and rehearsals. Real life's a bit messier."

His lips finally quirk up as he tries not to smile. "Falling on the floor is not at all sexy."

I take his face in my hands and kiss him around my laughter. "No, but it's real. Plus, we were so into it, we weren't aware of anything else. That's kinda hot."

He shrugs, somewhere between pouting and laughing. "Yeah, but now the mood is gone."

I pull back and look at him, confused. "It is?"

"It isn't?"

"Sweetie, this is real life. Things get messy and they're not always perfect, but that's what makes it great. We laugh and we keep going. I know I sure as hell will never forget the time we fell off the bed while having sex." I slide my hand down his chest, my fingers finding the tip of his erection; his hips jerk up against me.

"Won't we be sore tomorrow?" he whispers, and I just smile.

"I'm usually some level of sore after sex with you," I answer, shifting my hips up, enveloping just the tip of him. "I take a couple of aspirin and go about my business."

"I make you sore?"

"Stop fishing for compliments," I whisper, sliding down onto him, my fingers digging into his shoulders, my eyes rolling back in my head. "Oh, God," I groan, rolling my hips against his.

"You sure you're okay?" he whispers, his fingers digging into my thighs.

"Yeaaaaaah," I answer, pushing myself against him, the pain of crash landing on the floor temporarily forgotten. "You?" I barely remember to ask.

His lips wrap around my nipple—I take that to mean he's okay.

I feel myself hurtling back to where we were before we fell off the bed, my body eager to pick up where we left off.

One of his hands reaches up to his shoulder, grabbing mine, lacing our fingers together. He gives me a squeeze, and in that moment, it feels more intimate than anything else.

He pushes his hips up a little, but I'm content to do the bulk of the work right now. I think his ego is bruised more than anything right now. I'm happy to try to repair the damage.

My free hand wraps around his shoulders; his hand presses against the small of my back, pulling me into him, our bodies moving against each other frantically.

I gasp and clutch his fingers tighter, our joined hands resting on my thigh. I can hear him breathing heavily against my chest, moaning in pleasure, and his teeth graze my nipple.

"Oh, God, yes." I start moving against him rapidly, too fast for him to keep me in his mouth. His frees his fingers, the tips sliding against quivering stomach muscles, his touch feather-light. I tighten my grip on his shoulders, my now free hand grabbing onto his bicep. "Ohhhhhh."

"So beautiful," he whispers and I open my eyes, looking down to him. He smiles at me lazily, his pupils dilated, sweat trickling down the sides of his face. I lean down to kiss him, just that slight angle change almost doing me in.

His fingers slide down my stomach, disappearing between my thighs, and I almost bite off his lip at the contact.

"OHMYGOD OHMYGODOHMYGODOHYESYESYESYESOHHHHGOD!" I spiral out of control, the world exploding behind my eyes, and I probably nearly burst his eardrum as I yell out, my body jerking against him, completely abandoned and frantic.

"Baby YES!" I cry out, my back arching, pushing my chest into his, my falling back as I call out to the ceiling, holding onto him for dear life.

I feel him move faster beneath me for a few more seconds, his grip on me tightening, his fingers moving faster reflexively, and all of a sudden he's groaning loudly against my neck, and ride him harder, faster, drawing out our orgasms for as long as possible, and somewhere in the back of my mind I realize that I no longer have a roommate who has to pretend she didn't overhear me having sex or who'll give Chandler funny, curious looks in the morning.

The only roommate I have now is the one who makes me make these noises, who sometimes makes them with me, who only looks at me with love in the mornings, and it's the most incredible sensation in the world.

My head drops against his shoulder, my entire body going limp, and I can feel him twitching slightly, quiet, satisfied moans echoing in my ear. I feel him kiss my neck, his lips curving into a smile. "It's good to be home."

I frown for a moment before I remember my earlier comment, laughing a little. I wrap my arms around him, hugging him tightly. "I have something for you. Sort of a house-warming gift."

"You didn't have to do that," he tells me, kissing my shoulder, and I just shrug, unraveling my limbs from around him. I stand slowly, stretching my legs carefully, and hold out my hand for him. He grabs on, standing with a groan, laughing a little as he winces in pain. "You know, if we were twenty, I probably could have pulled off that maneuver with no trouble. Now that I'm almost thirty, I'm going to be in pain for a week."

"Eww. My boyfriend is _old_." He pinches my ass and jump, yelping. "Get into bed," I tell him, giving him a shove, and he pulls back the covers, crawling in between the sheets. I pull a flat, brown paper bag out of the nightstand draw and hand it to him, sliding into bed next to him.

"What's this?" he asks and I roll my eyes.

"That's why you open it, doofus. Otherwise, I would have just handed it to you."

"Calling me names on our first night," he says, making a face at me. "This bodes well."

"Get over it. I've been calling you names for years. I do it with love."

He scoffs a little and opens the bag, pulling out a little yellow, diamond-shaped sign, complete with suction cup on the back. He grins at me, looking every inch like a little boy. "Merge?" he asks me, and I give the sign a little flick.

"Merge," I answer, reaching up to kiss his cheek. "I felt kind of bad about shooting your idea down. I thought this would make up for it a little."

"I love you," he tells me, smiling at the miniature construction sign. "Where should I put it?"

"Anywhere you want, honey. It's your home, too."

He glances around the room, searching for a place to put it, and I realize that I completely mean it. He can put it anywhere he wants because he lives here, too. It's _our_ home now, and it should look like we both live here. Finally, he puts the sign back in the bag, laying it carefully on the other nightstand. I look at him curiously and he shrugs, wrapping an arm around my shoulders and pulling me against him. "I'll find a spot in the morning. For now, I'd rather just lie next to you. Besides, my legs are too shaky for me to get very far right now, anyway."

I grin and wrap my arm around his chest. He turns his head and our lips meet, and I have a hard time believing that I thought this felt weird.

It feels perfect and completely right. We're actually merging, as corny as that sounds. We're becoming a unit, and it's unbelievably exciting.

I giggle suddenly and he looks at me oddly. "Oh, my God, we actually live together!" It feels like it's just hitting me and I'm just giddy.

I scoots down in bed, pulling me with him, and I drape my leg over his, his hand resting on my hip, and I can feel him smile against my hair. "We _actually_ live together."

I laugh again, gently pinching his side. "Merge."


	8. Chapter 8

The bathroom door creaks open and I look up; Monica walks out in a puff of steam, looking very relaxed. I stretch my arm out to her, smiling. "Hey, babe. Good shower?"

She wiggles happily a little in her robe as she comes to stand next to my chair, her fingers sliding through my hair. I love that something as simple as taking a shower can make her giddy.

We've only been living together for a few weeks, but they've been the best weeks of my life so far.

The first few days were a little weird at times—we had to get used to it being just us. No more Rachel wandering around in the middle of the night or trying to be aware at all times that we could be overheard by either her or Joey. Now, when we get up in the morning, it's usually just us for a while. The two of us drinking coffee and eating breakfast, reading the newspaper…it was definitely odd at first. But now…I think we've found our rhythm.

It turns out that living together is just as natural as everything else we've done.

Most of our stuff has mingled together already—it doesn't entirely look like "her stuff" or "my stuff" anymore. This is one of those things that feels like it was supposed to happen.

I give her waist a little tug; she crinkles her nose as she looks down at my chair, but falls into my lap anyway.

"My chair really bothers you that much?" I ask, and she shrugs, curling her legs up against my chest. Her arms slide around my shoulders as she rests her head against mine.

"It doesn't thrill me."

I turn my face, pressing my nose against her cheek, taking a deep breath. Her skin is still damp and she just smells "clean." "But it's so comfy," I argue.

"But it's so _ugly_."

"Everything has a price, honey. Something this comfortable can't also look good—it wouldn't be fair to the world as a whole."

She snorts but says nothing, instead cuddling into me a little more. I run my fingers up and down her leg, smiling.

I like this part of living together, too. Not that we couldn't do this to some degree before we lived together, but now we don't constantly have an audience gawking at us while we're being affectionate.

I don't think either of us realized how much everyone stares us until we had the chance to be alone like this. Even though we've been together for over a year, we're still some sort of oddity to them. Okay, so maybe in their eyes it's only been about eight months, but I would still think they wouldn't feel the need to watch us so much.

I kiss her neck and she tilts her head for me, giving me better access. My hand slides under robe, my fingers dancing across her skin, and I feel her hum under my lips.

"Is that all you think about?" she asks me, her voice about an octave lower; I feel my body react to hers.

"Lately," I confirm, moving my hand to untie her sash, pushing the robe open, exposing her soft skin. She shivers a little as the cool air of the apartment hits her still-warm flesh but says nothing, waiting. I drag my hand roughly up her body to her neck, groaning at the feel of her, and pull her face down to mine.

Something else we definitely couldn't have done with roommates.

Her hand grabs at my shirt, fisting it in her hand; she keeps me close as she moans against my lips. My fingers skim back down her body, pausing to circle around her nipple. She gasps a little, pulling her lips from mine for a few moments as she breathes heavily, her skin already sensitive from her shower.

I know what I'm doing when it comes to this woman. I know that after she takes a shower late in the day, she can usually go one of two ways; she can either become incredibly sleepy or incredibly horny. For me, just thinking about her under the hot, running water, her hands everywhere as she washes…I shudder.

It's such a simple mental image, but it certainly gets me going. So as often as possible, I try to steer her in the direction of horny.

She doesn't usually complain.

My fingers move down her stomach, sliding to the juncture of her thighs, and her legs fall open for me, her hips pushing up inadvertently as I stroke her, her eyes closing as she bites her lip.

I love how responsive she is.

I love that she loves sex so much.

She's so amazing and so hot, I can't stand it.

The arm still wrapped around me digs into my shoulders; her other hand is on top of mine, moving me where she wants me, where she needs me.

Her hips thrust up as she gasps, my fingers sliding into her slowly. She shifts position on my lap, her ass against my erection, her legs draped on either side of mine. I bite at her neck and she moans softy; I can feel her clench around me, her hand moving mine urgently.

No way.

I stop my motions and her eyes fly open, staring at me. She looks confused as I slide out from under her carefully, leaving her sprawled out in the chair.

"Wha…?"

She was getting there way too fast. As much of an ego boost as that is, I have a little more in mind.

I push at her robe and she slides her arms out of it, leaning back against the chair, her eyes never leaving mine.

It can be wonderfully unnerving when she does that.

It's not uncommon for sex to be a power struggle between the two of us, though not in a bad way. It's just that we both usually want the upper hand, and it's pretty fun to battle it out. I can always tell when she actually _needs_ the control and I'll let her have it, giving it to her willingly if that's all it takes to make her happy.

Right now is not one of those times.

I turn the chair to face me, the television at my back; I pull my shirt over my head and toss it in the general direction of our bedroom. "I want you to really appreciate just how great this chair is," I tell her softly, kneeling down in front of her.

Her eyes grow wide as I grab her knees, pulling her to the edge of the chair, one of her arms draping over her head, grabbing the back of the barcalounger. She licks her lips and I watch her pupils dilate.

I lean forward and kiss her knee; her entire body jerks. I kiss her other knee and I watch her chest rise and fall, a flush spreading across her skin.

I run fingers up the tops of her thighs, carefully nipping at the delicate flesh of her inner leg. I can feel her body tensing beneath my hands.

I lean forward and kiss her stomach; she groans loudly, her back arching away from the chair. "You're killing me," she tells me lowly.

I ignore her, sucking on her skin, my hands going to her waist to hold her in position.

Living together _definitely_ has its perks.

She shifts a little, propping her foot against my shoulder, and just like that, she's in control. She knows that I won't be able to hold out for very long.

This still feels like a win-win situation.

I lower my mouth to her and she lets out a long hiss, one hand reaching down to grab onto my shoulder. I close my eyes and take a deep breath, the smell of her even more intense and intoxicating from this angle; my body reacts almost violently.

"Oh, God. Oh, Chandler," she breaths, and I open my eyes. Her head is thrown back, her face already contorted somewhere between ecstasy and agony.

If only she knew how long I've fantasized about doing this to her on my chair. I'm a little surprised we haven't gotten to it before now, honestly, but if the last few minutes are any indication, it was well worth the wait.

I wrap my lips around her and suck carefully; she moans, thrusting her hips against me.

I suck again; her hand goes to my hair, tugging at my scalp.

"Take off your pants," she gasps, and one of my hands immediately flies to my belt buckle, my motions clumsy as I try to undress myself one-handed. I cringe as my zipper runs over me roughly, finally using both hands to shove my pants and underwear down, kicking them off my ankles. I wrap my arm under her thigh again, my other hand going in between us, my fingers sliding into her once more.

"Ohhhhhhhhh," she groans, her thighs clamping around me for a few seconds, trapping me in a world of Monica. "Please. Just like that."

I'm on sensory overload. I will never be able to get her to understand why this is such a turn on for me, no matter how many times I try to explain it. It's not just that it's about trust the way it was back in the beginning, though I know that's still part of it. She's just so…free. These moments are all about her and her happiness, and I love that I'm part of that. Sure—it's a boost to my ego to get her to this place, and I certainly get turned on and she never leaves me hanging, but that's all secondary. _I_ get to make her intensely happy. For a few moments out of our lives, the world revolves completely around her, all of my energy going into her.

I watch her face as I go down on her; the muscles in her arms tensing and relaxing at regular intervals, her body thrusting against me, her hips rolling in small circles. I flick at her with my tongue and she cries out, smiling as she pants.

"Mon? Chandler?"

The voices jolt me out of my pleasure-induced haze, and I nearly groan in frustration. Are you kidding me? Again? That's twice Rachel's walked in on us having sex in the last few months.

"I don't think they're here." Great—Phoebe's here, too.

My eyes flit over to Monica's and I realize my mouth is still on her; I move away slowly, trying to read her expression. Unlike the last time we were interrupted, she doesn't look at all concerned. Maybe it's because they can't actually see anything from the doorway, or maybe it's because they're barging into _our_ apartment now and should know better. All I know is I'm getting a vibe that tells me she wants to keep going.

The woman's a lot kinkier than anyone would ever giver her credit for.

"We could just wait for them," Rachel suggests.

And that's my cue. I pop my head up a little, hoping they can't really tell that I'm not wearing any clothes.

"Hey guys," I say, trying to sound casual. "What's up?"

They both look startled for a moment by my appearance, but don't seem to think anything of it. "Hey, Chandler," Phoebe says, hanging up her jacket. "We just wanted to see what you and Monica were up to."

I glance down at the chair—Monica's eyes are shut as she bites her lip, her hips thrusting against my hand that I never bothered to stop moving. They _really_ don't want to know what we're up to right now.

"Where is she, by the way?" Rachel asks, looking around the apartment as she puts her bag on the counter.

Monica whimpers just a little; I can feel the way her body is tensing that this entire close-encounter is getting her to the edge much faster than I would have imagined. I speed up my movements just a fraction, but it's enough to make her mouth drop open.

I don't know what's gotten into me, either—I should be mortified. But, hell…this is my apartment. If my girlfriend and I want to have sex in the middle of the living room, we damn well can.

Phoebe starts to move toward the living room and my eyes grow wide. "Hey, how about you don't come any closer?"

Monica's hand grabs my wrist, her fingers digging into my skin hard enough to leave bruises, forcing me to stop my ministrations. I glance down at her again and my eyes meet hers; she's gasping as quietly as she can, but I know that all it'll take at this point is just a few more thrusts.

"Why? What's going on?" she asks, taking an involuntary step forward before her eyes grow wide. I don't know what she sees—if it's my bare shoulders or Monica's leg or if something just clicks, but she backs away quickly. "Whoa. Sorry to interrupt."

"Interrupt what?" Rachel asks, sounding genuinely confused.

"I'll explain on the way," Phoebe insists, grabbing Rachel's arm, trying to pull her back toward the door.

"Explain what? On the way to where? Seriously, what's going on?"

Phoebe makes a face at her, but Rachel puts her hands on her hips, waiting for an explanation.

"Come back later," Monica finally says, her voice high and breathless, her hips pushing against my hand even though she's trying to hold herself off.

Rachel's mouth drops open as Phoebe presses her lips together, trying not to laugh, her coat already in her hands.

"Oh, my God," Rachel spits out, disgusted. "What are you two—rabbits? Don't you ever _stop_?"

Phoebe snorts, her face turning red from trying to muffle her mirth. "C'mon, Rache," she gets out, grabbing our friend's arm; she doesn't put up a fight this time as she's dragged through the door.

"Sorry," Phoebe says from the hall, the door falling shut behind her; I can still hear Rachel on a tear.

"Did you see what they were doing? You know, that's not the first time I've walked in…"

"Next time call first!" Monica exclaims as their voices fade away. She lets go of my wrist and I look down at her; her eyes are shut again, and she doesn't look like she's missed a beat. She grabs the back of my neck, pulling my lips to hers.

"You okay?" I mumble, curling my fingers a little inside of her.

"Ohhhhhhhhh. Uh-huh."

"You sure?" I ask in a whisper. "I could stop…"

She lets out a noise that sounds like a sob and I start moving against her again, her hips moving quickly. I move my mouth back down to her thighs; my teeth scrape against her and she's suddenly screaming, her hand fisting in my hair so tightly it almost hurts as she pulls me closer. Her legs suddenly wrap around me as she thrusts against my face; my fingers pump in and out of her quickly as her back arches so far off the chair she almost folds in half.

At once, her legs go limp and her fingers release my hair as she gasps, still arched off the chair, almost frozen in position.

"Oh, my God," she pants. "Oh, my God."

I give her another playful suck, enjoying the weak moan that escapes her before I sit up, biting at her hip gently. "It's a good chair, right?"

She laughs breathlessly, her body finally relaxing a bit, her back falling onto the seat for a few moments before she slides down onto my lap. Her limbs wrap around me, holding me tight.

"I guess I can live with it for a while." She kisses my neck. "But if I start to forget, you'll have to remind me again."

"Oooh, deal," I agree enthusiastically. I'd be _thrilled_ to be able to remind her that way.

Her hands grab the sides of my head, her thumbs stroking my cheeks. She smiles at me tenderly even as she shifts her body closer to mine. "I don't know if I've told you lately, but I really like living with you."

I grin back, pressing my lips to hers quickly. "Even though I forget to lock the door?"

She rolls her eyes playfully. "Yeah, because you have the monopoly on that particular faux-pas. Do you see me getting up to lock it?"

I stroke her still damp hair back from her face. "You have a point."

She gives me another brief kiss before lifting her hips. "You ready?"

I can't help but snort; I've been painfully erect for some time now, the only relief coming from it being trapped between our bodies. "Yeah, I think so."

She slides down me, her fingers digging into my shoulders as she throws her head back. "Oh, God," she moans as I press my face against her chest, forcing myself to breathe deeply. Why is that every time I feel like some horny kid immediately on the verge instead of a grown-ass adult who should be able to contain himself with his long-term girlfriend?

Jesus, she feels incredible.

"You okay?" she breathes, her chest moving rapidly beneath me, and I nod weakly.

"Why am I still so turned on even though they walked in on us?"

"They didn't see anything," she answers in a whisper. "If they'd see something, it'd be different. I was too close to screaming bloody murder to care, though. You're evil, by the way."

"You wanted it." I bite her earlobe and she jerks against me; I bite my lip, still struggling for control.

She rocks against me suddenly, making me gasp as my fingers dig into her back. "Come on, big guy. Don't leave me hanging."

I lift my head from her chest, confused. She grins at me before grabbing my face, fusing her lips to mine.

"You sure you're okay with this?" I mumble against her mouth. She nods her head, her body following suit. "I mean, we just got walked in on _again_."

She grabs my face in her hands. "Chandler—shut up." She pulls my lips roughly back to hers and I grab onto her hips. If she's okay with it, then I'm okay with it. She pushes against me with long, hard thrusts; shivers run through my entire body. She gasps against my mouth, her nails digging into my scalp. "Yes," she whispers, and I push against her faster.

The only drawback to going down on her is that I get way too worked up way too quickly. The upside to Monica is that once she has an orgasm, it's insanely easy for me to get another one out of her. It's almost like her body never really stops. This usually works out pretty nicely for me.

I grab the arms of the chair behind her, pushing her into the footrest. Her hands slide down my neck to my shoulders, pulling me against her faster.

"I love you," I moan.

Her head falls back against the seat of the barcalounger, her mouth falling open as I drive into her. I bring my lips down to her neck, gently biting her throat. Her fingers dig into my ass.

"Yes yes yes," she moans as she pushes against me, her range of motion limited by me and the chair behind her.

I move my hands back to her hips, pulling my body from hers a bit, watching her. I love watching her, especially in these moments, but it's not just sexual, though there's plenty of that. Her body is endlessly fascinating, the way the muscles move under her skin, her involuntary reactions to stimulation, the way the cords in her neck stand out for a few moments as she strains against me. She's completely hypnotic.

Of course, the sexual aspect is pretty phenomenal, too, especially as she's gotten more and more comfortable with me staring at her during sex and the odd requests I sometimes make. The more she realizes that she's the one with the power in those situations, the more she's willing to do and the more she likes showing off for me. She's even gotten to the point where she'll initiate the use of her "toys" for me, which, naturally, manages to turn me on even further.

She offered to get rid of that stuff a while back, telling me that I was her own personal sex toy and she didn't really need anything else. I told her that just because she didn't _need_ anything else—a huge ego-boost, by the way—doesn't mean we couldn't have fun with some other stuff.

So, the little plastic box remains in the back of our underwear drawer.

Her nails dig into my chest suddenly, her eyes on mine again. She gives me a little shove and I fall back, only wincing for a moment when I hit my head on the edge of her grandmother's cabinet.

She leans forward, running a hand through my hair, rubbing the general area of my latest sex-related injury; I'm sure I'll have a bump on my head later, but right now, with my beautiful girlfriend on top of me, not much else seems to matter.

I put my hands on her legs, lightly running my fingers over the delicate skin of her inner thighs and I see the muscles there quiver. The only way I can make myself last for any length of time with her is focus on her reactions. There's no real logic to it other than the bits here and there are marginally less erotic than the whole of her, and the analytical parts of my mind can almost be objective in those moments.

Almost.

"Oh, God," she gasps, one hand resting on my thigh, the other gripping at my fingers, holding on tightly. "God, baby."

I look up at her face; she's biting her lip, her eyes screwed shut and I'm almost completely done in. I can feel myself tingling down to the tips of my toes. Like this, she has all the control—I'm just along for the ride.

I slide my free hand up her stomach, my fingertips gently skimming over her breasts, making her entire body shake. Sometimes the light touches do more for her than anything else—something about the teasing of it all being a thrill.

"Yes, Chandler," she moans, and my fingers tighten against her thigh involuntarily. "Yeaaaaaah."

I swallow heavily as I watch her rock her hips back and forth; she's incredible. She's completely amazing. "You're so beautiful," I whisper.

"Oh, my God," she groans, her fingers tightening against me. I always tell her that during sex, not only because she is, but because it always stuns me that she's mine. I have to say these things out loud almost to make sure it's all real. And no matter how many times I say it, she reacts the same way—her body convulses a little, her movements speed up, her internal muscles tighten around me—almost as if she's surprised that I'm saying it.

"I love you so much," I tell her, my fingers moving down the line of her stomach to her naval, and she bucks against me.

"Love you," she gasps. "Ohhhhhhh, I love you."

I don't think I'll ever be able to hear that enough—_that's_ the part that's hard for me to believe sometimes. I can't understand how someone like her could feel that way about someone like me. But she does. Somehow, against all the odds in my life, Monica Geller is in love with me. I'm pretty sure she wants to spend the rest of her life with me.

I don't know how I got so lucky.

I grab the backs of her knees, her hands following mine, our fingers weaving together once more. Her hips push against me faster and I take a few deep breaths, holding on by a thread.

"Chandler…oh, yes yes yes yes ohhhhhhh."

Yep—hearing her moan my name during sex is one of the most erotic, sensual things I've ever heard.

Her eyes fly open suddenly, her movements becoming jerky. "Oh, God. Oh, God. Oh god oh god oh god."

I dig my fingers into her, my eyes locked with hers, and I feel her start to quake, her mouth dropping open, a loud yell falling out of her. Moments later she drops onto me, her hips still thrusting violently, her moans in my ear shooting straight to my groin. I grit my teeth as I erupt into her, my hips lifting off the floor as I automatically try to get closer to her. I bite down onto her shoulder suddenly and she gasps out, pushing against me faster.

I wrap my arms around her, keeping her from flying off. She whimpers in my ear as the last few waves wash over her, her body gradually coming to a stop though I can still feel tremors coursing through her.

Or maybe they're running through me.

I kiss her neck, my arms giving her a gentle squeeze, and I feel her limbs tighten against me as she holds on to me. "I'm going to have to take another shower," she mumbles into my shoulder and I chuckle a little.

"Yeah, sorry about that."

"I don't think you are."

"Probably because I'm not."

She lets out a laugh and shifts against me for a few moments—I can tell she's trying to get up, but her body just won't let her yet. "I still need to be productive for the rest of the day," she complains half-heartedly, but I just shrug.

"Again, I'd tell you I'm sorry, but you'd know I'm lying."

She kisses my chest, her body shaking with laughter, before she lifts her head, smiling at me dreamily. "You really know how to distract a girl."

"I aim to please," I answer cockily and she nudges me with her knee.

"You're an ass."

"_But_ a charming one."

She just rolls her eyes and I grab the back of her head, pulling her mouth to mine, kissing her slowly. She sighs deeply as our lips gradually part.

"Oh, I hate you." All I can do is grin at her because I know she doesn't. She runs her fingers through my hair again, her touch gentle as she finds the tiny knot forming at the back of my head, her lower lip jutting out in sympathy. "Does it hurt?"

I shrug. "Eh. Could be worse. Better me than you."

"My knight in shining armor," she whispers, resting her free arm across my chest, propping her chin on it.

I think that's supposed to be teasing, but the look in her eyes is anything but. I think she might genuinely appreciate the sentiment of me willing to and happily taking the bumps and bruises that come along with a vigorous sex life.

"Always," I confirm. "Though I think you might have to get off my noble steed for a little while."

She groans, rolling off me. "You always know how to kill a moment," she tells me as she grabs her bunched up robe off the chair, wrapping it around her body. My hand reaches out and strokes her back, and she turns to smile at me. "What?"

I just shake my head; I just often feel the need to touch her. There's no other reason except that I like the contact. She twists her body a little, her hand coming out to stroke my cheek. I turn my face to kiss her palm and shiver as my body suddenly misses her warmth. She rubs my leg for a moment before grabbing my pants and handing them to me. I struggle to pull them on in my prone position, my feet flopping around a bit, Monica chuckling at me the entire time.

"At least I'm good in bed," I tell her as I struggle to my feet, stretching out my tired, shaking muscles.

She wraps her arms around me from behind, kissing in between my shoulder blades; I can feel her lips pulling into a smile. "Yeah, at least you have that _one_ thing going for you."

I flick her wrist, making her laugh a little. "You're lucky I'm all out of energy, or I'd be forced to show you my prowess all over again."

She gives my back another kiss and I feel her turn her head, her cheek against my spine. "Rain check," she tells me, and I'm sure I'm in for a world of hurt later on.

I can't wait.


End file.
